Do You?
by freakylikethis
Summary: Damon and Elena head for Colorado on a mission to track down the Original Original responsible for siring the bloodlines of the Mystic Falls vampires. After a flashback of the night her parents died, Elena turns to Damon - and alcohol - for comfort. Shared hotel rooms inevitably lead to shared beds - but will they make it back to Mystic without killing each other first?
1. Chapter 1: Close Quarters

AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I first started posting here on I was simply copying and pasting stories I'd already posted elsewhere. Pausing for capitalization tends to throw off the flow of my writing, and for the first few chapters as I said, I just copied and pasted without re-reading the stories. It wasn't until I started generating responses that I started proofreading and tweaking my chapters as I posted them - your comments drove me to various changes, most of which I hope are for the better, and as I changed things I went in and fixed the lack of capital letters.

Point being: **Please don't write off this story before you read it because of the lack of capitalization!** I hope you'll give it a chance anyway, and try to enjoy the writing minus the technical stuff - but taking note of the fact that not capitalizing things bothered a decent amount of my readers, I'm now doing it. Bear with me for a few chapters and I swear damon will become Damon. Hopefully you'll do just that and you'll be glad you did. Thanks guys, enjoy!

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try as he might - and he had been - damon salvatore just couldn't sleep.

in an effort to expedite the process, he raided the hotel minibar and helped himself to a drink. obscenely high prices hardly mattered when you had no intention of settling your bill. he always left generous tips for bellboys and maids, but their work required - well, work. they earned it - shoveled and slaved and served to get a little extra. giving them their fair share made sense to damon, but funneling more riches into paris hilton's pocket was another matter entirely.

besides, all he had to do was look the concierge dead in the eyes and inform him or her that mr. salvatore was all paid up. when it was that easy to rip someone off, it would just be wrong not to do so. like a brilliant singer refusing to overcome stage fright. a total waste of talent.

he sipped his top shelf bourbon and tried to think of anything, anything at all, except the girl - woman - sleeping one room away. and not just one room, but one _adjoining _room. as in, cross the room in what, maybe three, four long strides, put a hand on the smooth silver knob, give the wrist a flick, tug the knob and voila: elena.

and not just elena, but elena in a big, cozy, come-on-in-and-cuddle-up bed, a bed plump with generously fluffed pillows, a bed warm from her body heat.

a bed warm from her body...

damon bit back a groan and grabbed the television remote. at this point he'd take anything, anything that could disengage his mind from her body.

they'd been on the road for ten straight hours, during which time damon relied on too many red bulls, gallons of coffee, and caffeine pills. every time elena offered to drive he'd shoot her an amused glance that clearly said, "aw, how cute that you think i'd actually let you drive my car."

so when he finally had asked her to do just that, elena knew it was time for a break.

half dead, damon relented, but when elena suggested a cheap red roof inn she got another "you're just adorable" look as damon reminded her that his powers of "persuasion" meant that they could easily get a penthouse suite somewhere. elena argued simply to give him a hard time, and within twenty miles they found a hilton. ten minutes later they were in the elevator, headed for the top floor and the penthouse damon had promised.

they were headed to colorado, halfway across the country, and damon was already regretting joining elena on the trip. she'd taken him by surprise when she'd specifically asked for his company, but he hadn't questioned her reasons - had simply said "whatever you want me to do, elena," his tone teasing, his eyes serious.

but all this time spent in close quarters with the woman he loved was taking a toll, and he wasn't sure he'd manage to keep his hands off her much longer. not after that one kiss, the one that had seared his very soul - a soul he'd thought was long dead.

jesus, she'd tasted like... warm honey. but there was a hint of spice, too, and she smelled like vanilla, and the blend was so fucking intoxicating that when it teased his senses in the confines of his car his jeans became distinctly uncomfortable given his stubborn hard-on. did she have to be so goddamn beautiful? so soft, so sweet, so desirable he wanted to hold her and strangle her all at once?

when they'd gotten to the hotel he'd made a point of yawning, discouraging conversation and making his way to the adjoining bedroom. sheer exhaustion had him falling asleep almost instantly, but a handful of hours later - it was, according to the bedside clock, just past two am - he was wide awake and restless as hell.

and aware, so acutely aware, that he and elena gilbert were alone together in a hotel suite offering two king sized beds, a love seat, a wide, soft-cushioned couch, and miles of plush carpet.

damon wanted to use every one of those surfaces - and hey, why not throw in the impressive shower stall with four different shower heads, or the spacious bath, or the tempting hot tub on the terrace - to make love to her.

jesus h. christ. damon couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to _make love _to a woman. he preferred hot sex, a quick fuck, a wild ride, wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

but elena inspired a lot of emotions and desires damon thought he'd long since purged from his system, and he both cursed her and loved her for it.

he'd just settled on a family guy rerun and was headed to the fridge to refill his drink when he heard the blood-chilling cry that ripped from elena's throat. the single syllable that pleaded desperately.

_"NO!"_


	2. Chapter 2: Salvatore, as in Savior

_elena couldn't breathe._

_her lungs burned, begging for air. the water was ink black, a shroud suffocating her, gleefully wrapping her in its deadly grasp and grinning all the while._

_the fight was going out of her with every passing second. she was tired, so tired. the effort of unclipping her seatbelt had taken on the insurmountable height of everest. her fingers fumbled, her eyesight dimmed._

_and she knew with absolute certainty that she was going to die._

_by the time strong hands clasped her shoulders and dragged her though the open window of the car into the murky darkness of the lake, elena had lost consciousness._

damon had elena by the shoulders, his hands clenching with bruising force, panic mounting. she wasn't breathing, and she wasn't waking. he had a sudden vision of freddy krueger's striped sweater looming invisibly over elena in her sleep, and he was filled with the irrational conviction that she'd never wake.

fuck that. not on his watch - not on anyone's.

with more roughness than he'd intended, damon clamped elena's nostrils shut; in response her jaw automatically dropped. he was just lowering his mouth to hers with some crazed notion of attempting CPR when her lids fluttered open.

tears were pouring down her face as she stared up at him through blank, unseeing eyes.

she was shaking violently, and damon took a seat beside her on the bed, ready to soothe, ready to hold her and rock her and make it all okay again. he was about to slip an arm around the too-hot skin of her bare back - she'd been fighting the covers desperately before she'd gone so terribly still - when she spoke.

"you saved me," she gasped out between her sobs. "you saved me, stefan."

damon's whole body went rigid. elena was still crying, unaware of his reaction, probably unaware that she'd even spoken, when damon released her.

he rose from the bed, moving with uncharacteristic stiffness. there was a half-full carafe of water on the desk across the room, and he forced his hands to remain steady as he poured her a glass.

_you saved me, stefan..._

he took a slow breath and returned to the bedside, but this time he crouched beside it and spoke in low, distant tones.

"elena. you're okay, elena. you were having a nightmare." even through the depths of his own pain, her weeping wrenched his heart. she'd drawn her knees to her chest and looped her arms around them, burying her head and rocking back and forth, back and forth. "elena, stop it." he fought to keep his voice gentle and reached for her hand, needing the contact, needing the connection, but when his fingers skimmed hers she jerked upright, away from his touch, away from him.

damon withdrew instantly, set the cup of water on the bedside table with a hard click of porcelain against shining oak. he started to move toward the door, the same door he'd nearly ripped off its hinges when he'd heard her cry, then spun back toward her, angry and frustrated and filled with black, bleak sadness.

despite his own torment, he just couldn't leave her to her tears, and this time when he spoke, his words were clipped. "snap out of it, elena." when she didn't respond, he grabbed the loose braid she'd slept in and gave it a sharp yank. "snap the hell out of it," he commanded, catching her chin in his hand and looking at her with blazing blue eyes. "you're stronger than this bullshit."

he didn't need to compel her; his eyes alone were capable of hypnotizing anyone who held his gaze for too long. blinking slowly, elena's eyes came into focus, still bright with tears, still dark with pain.

"damon," she whispered. "oh, god, damon."

and then she was reaching for him, for the warmth of his arms, for the safety of his embrace. the need was so clear in her eyes, on her face, the need for tenderness, for comfort. so he sat beside her again, and this time when he put his arm around her she leaned into his touch, pressed her damp cheek to the warmth of his bare chest. her sobs were quieter now as she held him tight.

"you're okay, elena," he said softly, rubbing her back with long strokes of his broad palm. "i'm right here." _me_, he thought bitterly, _not stefan_. but he kept his tone and his touch gentle. "i won't let anything happen to you."

"i know," she whispered. "i know. you're a salvatore. savior. my savior."

her earlier words replayed in his head, over and over and over. when he responded, his voice was very level.

"well, i'm one of them, anyway."

you saved me, stefan...


	3. Chapter 3: Nice Guys Finish First

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just so you all know, I'm copying and pasting already written stories. I went through and did a "find" "replace" thing to capitalize Damon and Elena's names but going through and capitalizing everything else is suchhhh a pain, so I'm sorry but I just don't care enough to do it. I hope at least having their names capitalized satisfies some of you :( Seriously, sorry, it's a habit, capitalization sometimes interrupts the flow of my writing, but if you've looked at the story Captive you'll see that I'm starting to do it so yay!

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Elena's heart beat was gradually slowing as the aftereffects of the nightmare wore off, and with the fear fading, sharp awareness seemed to bloom.

Because she was becoming acutely aware of the strong arms around her, the warm, bare skin beneath her cheek, the feel of her breast against his broad chest. The heart beat that had only just calmed was beginning to speed up again, and Elena felt an undeniable tug of pure lust.

"Hey, are you okay, Elena?"

She realized that Damon could likely hear the sound of her blood pumping, and, suddenly edgy, she disentangled herself from his grasp under the pretense of reaching for the cup on the table.

"I just - I just need some water," she managed. In fact, it was true; her mouth had gone dry.

Damon sat up higher on the bed, leaning against the headboard and studying her through narrowed eyes. Elena's face was oddly flushed, her eyes bright with something a little wild, a little hot. When she swept her tongue over her lips every muscle in his body - every one - stiffened.

She saw the instant he became aware of her awareness, which only intensified the latter. It was an unmistakably hungry look that leapt into his eyes, and in reaction, Elena leapt from the bed.

"Sorry - I need to just, I should wash my face or something." She could barely keep herself from bolting into the bathroom, and as she closed the door she let out a long breath. she needed a moment, just a moment, to collect herself, and she did splash water on her face in the hopes of cooling down.

she allowed herself thirty seconds of deep breathing before opening the door again and returning to the room.

which was empty.

Elena experienced a baffling moment of simultaneous disappointment and relief, but before she could decide which emotion outweighed the other, Damon was walking back into the room, drink in hand. he'd also pulled on one of his many long-sleeved black shirts, leaving it hanging open so that she could still admire the hard lines of chest. her fingers itched to button the shirt for him. she'd rather face a shirtless Damon than an unbuttoned Damon, because seeing him half dressed had her desperately wanting to finish the job.

"you feeling better?"

Elena forced herself out of her reverie and nodded, rendered momentarily mute by this particularly stunning male specimen. he was so effortlessly devastating, all laser blue eyes and wicked mouth.

he nodded, sipped from his drink, watched her cross the room to sit on the bed. wished fleetingly that the girl would just once cover her legs with more than the swatches of fabric making up a very short pair of boxers. all that visible skin was killing him.

"are you okay, then? it's late. we should probably get some sleep."

he could see the pulse pounding in her throat.

"um."

his brow arched as he drained his glass before turning to raid her minibar.

"i don't - i'm not sure i'll be able to. to sleep." she wasn't lying - the nightmare was too close to the surface and she was scared that she'd close her eyes only to find herself trapped underwater all over again.

she was scared to be alone; she was terrified to be alone with him.

"actually, if you're not too tired..."

"i guess i could keep you company," he interjected in a deliberately reluctant tone. "but only because i'm such a nice guy."

that made her grin. "right. that's you."

"well if you're gonna insult me i'll just take my excellent company elsewhere."

how could he make her feel so comfortable and so uneasy at the same time? she had a feeling that he was making an effort to put her at ease, and on one level it was working. unfortunately, the fact that he was bothering to do so in the first place only made him so much more attractive.

no, no one would describe Damon salvatore as a nice guy. but deep down, he really was a good one.

"please don't," she told him after a long moment. with slow, precise movements, she straightened the comforter she'd tangled up in sleep. she was about to turn the covers down when she wondered if that would be some sort of invitation, and she hurriedly flipped them back up before taking a seat.

"you should tuck in," Damon said with surprising gentleness, coming up beside her to lift the blankets again. "you'll be cozier, and if you're lucky you might be able to get a little sleep."

she hesitated, looking at him closely, and he gave her a little smile.

"i'm not crawling into bed with you. remember, nice guy? i'm living up to my reputation."

"god forbid," she answered, returning the smile.

"you're mean," he commented, waiting until she slid under the covers before rounding the bed to sit on the opposite side. as he passed the minibar he paused, then opened it and grabbed as many little bottles as possible and tossed them on the bed.

he met Elena's look with a shrug. "what? i'm just thinking ahead."

"very smart," she acknowledged with a wise nod of her head. "actually, could you grab me a soda?"

he heaved a put-upon sigh and went to the fridge, turning to look over his shoulder. "what do you want?"

she looked at the pile of little bottles on the bedspread and picked one up, scanning the label.

"something that mixes well with jack daniels."

he didn't comment, though she saw the surprise on his face. he tossed her a chill can of coke, and she quickly drained her water, unscrewed the top of the whiskey and sloshed a generous amount into the cup. added a splash of coke. took a long drink.

and wondered if this night was about to take a very unexpected turn.


	4. Chapter 4: The Morning After

in the morning, Elena would remember none of the events of the previous night.

Damon, on the other hand, would remember everything. vividly.

uncomfortably vividly.

Elena woke up feeling nothing short of miserable. her head throbbed and the sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains seared her eyes. she squinted blearily, her mind blurred, her throat parched.

she'd sell her soul for a glass of water.

dimly, she heard the sound of just that running - water. someone was in the shower.

she sat bolt upright - regretted it instantly as her head screamed in protest - and realized she was stark naked. and the bed she lay in had clearly been disturbed by more than one body.

shit.

she reached out a tentative hand and felt the empty space on the mattress beside her. it was still warm.

seriously. shit.

she tried desperately to remember exactly what circumstances had led to her present ones, came up with next to nothing. she had a vague recollection of her nightmare, and Damon soothing her through it. then a genius decision to get drunk. then... nothing.

she heard the water in the bathroom switch off and her mind jerked painfully to the present. she needed clothes, and she needed them fast. she looked fruitlessly for her own top but only found Damon's button-up black shirt and shoved her arms into the sleeves, still scanning the room hopefully in search of her boxers.

that was when her eyes fell on the lamppost across the room. and the tiny pair of string bikini panties hanging from it.

bile rose in her throat.

pushing the image of her underwear from her mind, she hastily buttoned the shirt, grateful that it was long enough to hit mid-thigh, jumped out of the bed and all but dove for the door to the adjoining room. she closed it behind her with a firm click and headed for the bathroom. took a long breath. flipped the light switch, winced at the harsh fluorescent glow, then steeled herself and looked at her reflection.

she'd looked worse, but she'd also certainly looked better. in her haste to dress she'd missed a button on the shirt, making it a little too short for comfort in the front. her skin was sickly pale, the circles under her eyes were dark and bruised, her mascara was smeared, and her hair was hopelessly tangled. it was also damp.

the worst, though, was the mark on her collarbone. a red brand that looked horrifyingly like beard burn.

_shit._

two thoughts went through her mind, the second nipping the heels of the first:

what the hell had happened last night?

and did she really want to know?

in the other room, Damon was reliving the night and alternately cursing himself and Elena. mostly Elena. for being sweet, for being sexy. for being shitfaced.

if she'd been anyone else, he would've gladly abandoned his already-questionable morals. but she wasn't; she was Elena. and for that alone he could hate her.

he found himself ridiculously glad when he came out of the bathroom, showered and clean and entirely dissatisfied, to find the bed empty. her scent lingered, which was seriously annoying, but at least he didn't have to look at her. it made his fingers itch, made them want to move independently of his brain and touch and torture and _take_.

all of which he could've done in those early hours of the morning. none of which he had.

he hoped, fiercely, that she was enduring the world's worst hangover. after her fourth drink he'd started fixing them for her, and had been as free with soda as she'd been with liquor. by the time she was on her sixth, she was oblivious to the fact that she was drinking a "cocktail" that amounted to 95% coke, 4% ice, 1% vodka. she was a light-weight, and having allowed her to consume the first four drinks had been a mistake of monumental proportions.

she'd run the emotional gamut in the course of maybe three hours. first she was simply relaxed, leaning comfortably against his shoulder as they watched monsters, inc., on pay-per-view (her choice, although he'd only put up a token protest. the little girl was fucking cute, okay?). by the end of the movie she was getting restless, roaming the room on unsteady legs - at one point she walked straight into an ottoman, tumbling over the side of the couch and viciously scraping up the fine line of her collar bone in the process. he'd burst out laughing; she'd burst into tears.

she'd recovered quickly and gallantly told the couch it was okay, she knew it hadn't meant to trip her. then she informed Damon that as a kid, she'd taken ballet lessons. she performed a few wobbly pirouettes and it was only his lightning reflexes that saved her from a nasty fall that would've likely ended with a hospital visit - he'd caught her seconds before her head crashed against the vicious corner of the glass coffee table.

she cried for the second time, apologizing profusely for her clumsiness, telling him she'd never been a good ballerina and she'd certainly never star in swan lake which just wasn't fair, the costumes were so _lovely _and wouldn't she be suited to a career in the spotlight?

he'd humored her, of course. really, she'd been pretty adorable, all drunk and sloppy with those big bedroom eyes and a cute little hiccup.

but at some point she came to the realization that they had access to a hot tub. and that's when things got dicey.

she headed directly for the tub and would've smacked right into the sliding glass door leading to the terrace if he hadn't reached it ahead of her. she'd flashed him a smile, thanked him profusely, then grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bubbling water. the night air was fragrant with the first scents of summer, and little fairy lights twined the balcony rails, making the setting devastatingly enchanted, devastatingly romantic.

with the carefree glee of a child, she'd shed her tank and boxers, tossed them onto the pavement, and climbed into the water with a laugh and a splash.

Damon's jaw nearly broke with the force of his clenched teeth. really, a mostly-naked Elena was too much to endure. he wasn't a fucking saint, and despite her repeated invitations, he refused to join her in the tub. a man could only take so much.

his refusal prompted another mood swing; she was angry and petulant, demanding to know why she wasn't good enough. would he rather, she asked, bitingly, have the company of rebekah? was she not _hot _enough for him?

exasperated, he'd raked restless hands through his hair and scowled at her.

"you're plenty hot, Elena. but I'm tired. let's go to bed."

a poor choice of words, he'd realized instantly. because her pouty expression turned mischievous and she'd sent him a slow smile of agreement, lifted a regal hand toward him so he could help her from the tub. not wanting to see her do a face plant, he'd taken her hand and carefully steadied her, trying hard to keep his eyes on hers. she hadn't gone to bed in a bra, a fact that was painfully evident. but before he'd been able to force her back into her shirt, she was plastered against him, bare breasts soft against his chest, hot little body wriggling, hotter mouth fused to his in a wet tangle of tongues.

he was only human. well, man, anyway. his brain shut off and he kissed her back, lost himself in her for who knows how long - he wasn't exactly keeping time. but then her hand was slipping between them and moving south, fast, and he'd forced himself to step back, catching her wrist in an iron grip.

"not a good idea, Elena," he'd managed through gritted teeth.

"a bad one, then," she'd answered.

"listen to me, Elena." he'd jerked her toward him and looked at her, into her, with his eyes blazing. "we're gonna finish this. whatever the hell this is. but when we do, you're going to remember every. single. detail."

even her alcohol-soaked brain registered the threat in his words and her eyes grew wide, a little scared, a lot excited. he let out an imaginative string of curses, yanked the wrist still caught in his hand and drew her inside again.

"get in bed," he'd instructed, his tone clipped, his nerves frayed. "I'm gonna get you a towel. then we're going to _sleep_."

she'd obeyed a little too easily, and it was as he was walking back out of the bathroom that he caught sight of something flying across the room and landing with a wet 'plop' on the lamppost.

he'd closed his eyes, but the image of her dripping panties was already seared onto his lids.

"come on, Damon. i wanna know what all the fuss is about."

amused in spite of himself, he'd quirked a brow. "so there's fuss, huh?"

"mmhmm," she'd answered, licking her lips and making his already rock hard cock throb. she was lying on top of the covers on her stomach, chin propped on her fists, totally naked, totally delicious.

his fists clenched involuntarily at his sides. which reminded him that in one hand he gripped a towel, which he threw across the room almost desperately in an effort to cover her up.

somehow, the drape of the snowy towel over her golden skin made him even hotter - something he hadn't thought possible.

"dry off," he'd instructed her in a clipped voice, then turned on his heel for the bathroom.

"where are you going?"

"to take a fucking shower," he'd snapped, not bothering to look back.

"but - "

"shut up, Elena."

"i thought you wanted me," she'd murmured, and her tone was so sad, so genuinely hurt, that he had to turn back. her eyes were damp with tears and he saw that she'd wrapped the towel around her and was starting to shiver.

with slow, movements, he'd retrieved another towel and went to sit beside her on the bed, aware that proximity was a terrible idea, equally aware that he couldn't walk away.

"i do," he told her, running the towel over her hair, brushing her chin with his fingers and angling her face toward him. she suddenly looked so young, so vulnerable, and his heart, already so full of love for her, seemed to throb in his chest. "i do, Elena. but not like this."

"how, then?" she stared up at him trustingly, her bottom lip quivering, just a little.

"i don't know, yet. but when i do, believe me, I'll tell you."

she yawned and allowed him to tuck her under the covers, but when he started to pull away she reached for him.

"don't go," she whispered, and it was more than a request - it was a plea. "i don't want to be alone, Damon."

"okay," he'd answered automatically, even though his body was desperate for a cold shower or hot release. firmly pushing aside his libido, he'd slipped an arm around her shoulders, although he didn't trust himself to climb under the covers with her. she'd laid her head on his chest and gave a little sigh of pleasure.

"you feel good," she told him.

"you do, too."

"i want to feel all of you," she murmured sleepily.

"go to sleep, sweetheart."

"you'll stay? you won't go?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Elena. I'm not gonna leave you."

"they do, though. people leave. mom and dad and jenna. stefan..."

he felt something hot on his skin and knew it was her tears.

"I'm not people. I'm me."

"you're Damon."

"I'm Damon," he said, smiling to himself.

"he's good, you know."

Damon remained silent, but she went on anyway.

"stefan. he's good. he left, but he's good. he came back... and he loves me. he still does... he loves me..." she trailed off, her words slurred.

it wasn't until her breathing steadied, until sleep claimed her, that Damon spoke again.

"but who do _you _love, Elena?"

the question hung like a storm cloud over the two of them. and it was a long time before he joined her in sleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Was It Good For You?

Elena stayed under the spray of the shower until the water ran cold. when she stepped out, the bathroom mirror was misty with fog; she swiped her palm over its surface and decided that the shower had improved her appearance, if not her mood.

she used the cucumber-scented body lotion provided by the hotel and spent an unnecessarily long time blow-drying her hair until it rained in a stick-straight fall of chocolate down her back. she wished desperately for her makeup case, not motivated by vanity so much as shame: she really, _really_ wanted some concealer for the mark on her collar bone. somehow she felt that if it was hidden from observant eyes - and Damon's were particularly keen - whatever else she'd done would be hidden, too.

naturally, in her haste to escape the other room she'd neglected to grab a change of clothes. annoyed with herself, she yanked Damon's shirt back on and wrapped a towel around her waist. it wasn't much of a fashion statement, but then, she was hardly flush with options.

she used her finger to brush her teeth, then flossed meticulously in what was an obvious stall tactic. finally, she propped her elbows on the cool porcelain counter and stared at her reflection.

_whatever happened, happened, _she told herself firmly. _what's done is done. now you've just gotta deal with the consequences._

of course, dealing with consequences was more palatable when you knew what you'd done to deserve them.

"what's done is done," she repeated. gritting her teeth - and wishing pointlessly that she had a real outfit on, or maybe a suit of armor - Elena stepped purposefully toward the door.

as Elena was steeling herself for an uncomfortable confrontation, Damon was tipping the bellboy who'd just delivered a bag of groceries. the kid still seemed a bit thrown as he handed Damon the purchases, wondering dimly what had possessed him to break a hotel rule - you never, _never _encouraged guests to spend their money outside the cafe or gift shop, and you certainly didn't deliver contraband products yourself. but the fifty he pocketed soothed his nerves, and he gave a jaunty tip of the hat to Damon before the door was closed in his face.

the contents of the plastic bag would've mystified even the most creative-minded chef, especially if that chef knew that those ingredients would all end up in the same dish - or drink, rather. the salvatore hangover cure tasted absolutely foul - and was incredibly effective (if you could keep it down, anyway).

in the little kitchenette accompanying the suite Damon broke three eggs, added a healthy splash of pickle juice, a cocktail of pineapple and orange juice, crushed aspirin and alka seltzer mix. several other ingredients were tossed into the blender thoughtfully provided by the hotel, and unfortunately for Elena, she entered the room just as Damon flipped the switch.

the whir of the blender was magnified twenty times over by Elena's hangover, and her hands flew automatically to her ears.

"morning, sunshine," Damon said cheerfully, pitching his voice so that it would carry over the sound of the machine. he deliberately kept it on longer than necessary - she'd tortured him the night before, and it was only fair of him to pay her back - before finally shutting it off. when Elena warily approached the kitchenette counter he waved her away. if she knew exactly what he'd used to make the unappetizingly murky-colored drink, she wouldn't step within ten feet of it.

"nice outfit," he commented, pouring the mix into a glass and skirting the counter to press it into her hand.

she groaned in response, and in some corner of her mind seriously resented Damon's upbeat attitude. mostly, though, she was focused on the disgusting-looking liquid in her hand.

"am i supposed to drink this?"

"it won't fit into a suppository, if that's what you were hoping."

she sent him a withering glance. "what is it?"

"a gift. to put you out of your misery."

"poison?" she sounded hopeful enough to make him smile.

"just chug. you might want to hold your nose, too. i promise you, it'll help the hangover."

just the thought of willfully ingesting the drink made her stomach writhe in protest. but she trusted him - he'd had over a century and a half to come up with a hangover remedy, hadn't he? - and tried not to wonder if this was some sort of payback. closing her eyes and squeezing her nostrils shut, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a tentative sip.

before she could act on reflex and throw the "drink" in his face, Damon's palm was cupping the base of the glass and forcing the contents down her throat. she came up sputtering, eyes dark with anger.

she wanted to open her mouth and yell at him, but she didn't dare, just in case her stomach did reject whatever the hell he'd literally pushed on her. Damon's eyes were dancing merrily as he watched her breathe slow, even breaths through her nose. she counted to ten, then unclenched her teeth.

"you're an ass," she told him bitterly.

"thanks," he answered, smiling. he looked unfairly sexy this morning, especially when Elena was still feeling so ragged around the edges. his hair was shades darker than usual, still damp from his shower, his cheeks had the customary hint of color that so perfectly complimented those sparkling eyes, and damn it, he smelled really, really good. of mint and musk and man.

_bastard, _she thought bitterly.

"i see you helped yourself to one of my shirts," he commented, enjoying himself. irritating Elena was one of life's little pleasures.

"you weren't using it," she said - sounding decidedly irritable, which only broadened Damon's smile. turning her back on him, she stalked across the room to rifle through her duffle bag, grabbing jeans and a purple spaghetti strap tank and rummaging around for a change of underwear.

Damon, thoughtful as ever, said her name. she glanced in his direction to see her discarded panties dangling from his finger.

"looking for these?"

the drink threatened to come up all over again as she silently brushed past him - snatching the underwear and tossing it into her duffel - and, ignoring her headache, slammed the bathroom door shut.

so far, the morning had been going smoothly. remarkably, the suspicious concoction Damon pressed on her left Elena feeling almost chipper, until she remembered the multitude of things she _didn't _remember.

they were in the car again with Damon behind the wheel, Elena's eyes shaded by wayfarer-style ray bans, Damon's hidden behind reflective silver aviators. even though she couldn't see those blazing blue eyes, she felt them skim her face more than a few times.

they'd been on the road for going on three hours when Elena caved in to her mounting nerves. Damon had kept up a fairly constant stream of casual conversation interrupted occasionally by raising the volume of the radio when an appealing song came on.

but it was barely twenty minutes into the audio book Damon had suggested they listen to - which instantly made Elena wary, because hello, Damon, audio books? - that she snapped.

"hey!" Damon protested, "that was just getting good!"

she wouldn't deny it - she'd heard of the book but had still been blindsided by the fact that it was borderline pornography, which explained precisely why Damon chose it. and she wasn't immune to the charismatic christian grey.

more worrisome, though, was the fact that she was far from immune to the even more charismatic Damon salvatore.

with that in mind, Elena decided it was time to face the music. if she absolutely had to, anyway.

she caught herself a split second before she asked straight out, "what happened last night?" that was dangerous territory. Damon loved screwing around; it was a passion he'd grown highly adept at. so letting him know just how little she remembered from the night before would be an exercise in torture. god only knew what wild stories he'd conjure.

"so... sorry i woke you last night," she said, treading very carefully.

"i wasn't sleeping," he answered easily.

"ah."

Damon leaned forward to flip the radio on again, prompting Elena to let out a startled "no!"

he arched a brow. "what's with you?"

"just - don't you think it's a little, um... trashy?"

"your point being?"

"Damon."

"Elena."

"I'm serious. it's about some young impressionable girl getting walked all over by a know-it-all older man with zero sexual hang-ups whatsoever!"

"you say that like it's a bad thing."

"he's sick!" okay, she didn't actually know that. she hadn't read the book and was damn well intrigued by what they'd heard so far, but she was still dodging the whole point of her fishing expedition. she couldn't be too obvious; he was clever, and she couldn't act like her memory loss was a big thing. or a thing at all.

casual. stay casual.

Damon, of course, was clever. and Damon did, of course, love screwing around. contrary to what Elena believed, he'd figured out hours ago that she had no idea what transpired the night before. if she had, she would've felt compelled to discuss it, address it at the very least - and she'd probably have a difficult time making eye contact. in fact, he'd been waiting patiently to see just when she'd break. Elena was by nature confrontational - she didn't run from problems, didn't shy away from touchy subjects. the fact that she was doing just that now was endlessly amusing to him. he'd purchased the 50 shades of grey when he spotted it in the well-stocked hotel gift shop with the express purpose of putting her further on edge.

it was his turn to have some fun. god knew he deserved it after denying himself what certainly would've been a _lot _of fun the night before.

"since when are you such a prude?" Damon asked, drumming his fingers on the wheel and looking over at her with his patented bone-melting gaze.

"since - " she stuttered. "I'm not a prude!"

he laughed wickedly. "you don't have to tell me." his tone was just suggestive enough to have Elena wriggling uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

she tried, unsuccessfully, to sound like she was perfectly at ease. like she wasn't dying to know the answer to her next question. "and what's that supposed to mean?"

Damon tucked his tongue in his cheek thoughtfully, just to piss her off. "you know exactly what it means," he said, shooting her a dastardly wink.

her hands clenched into fists as she tried to stay calm. "obviously i don't."

he shrugged. "okay."

"Damon!"

"Elena?"

"what the hell - " _happened last night? _no, not yet. she didn't have to spell it out yet. "are you talking about?" she cast about desperately for an alternate meaning to his words. "did - did someone tell you i was a prude?"

Damon's mood darkened briefly, fully aware that "someone" translated to "stefan." but he shook off the moment of irritation in favor of drawing out _her _irritation.

"i didn't call you a prude. jeez, Elena, lighten up."

she tried, really tried, to take his advice.

"no one had to tell me," he went on, the grin sliding over his face again. "i have eyes, don't i? and ears, and _hands_." he lingered over the last word and something quivered low in her belly. "but I'm not telling you anything _you _don't know."

_oh, god_.

at her stunned silence, Damon let out an indignant snort. "oh my god. are you telling me you don't remember? jesus, Elena, you really know how to hit a guy where it hurts. i mean, the things i did - you did... _we _did. and you don't remember _any _of it? i've lived for a hundred and seventy years and you _still _managed to surprise me. i had no idea you were so... bendy."

Elena, who had been sipping from her bottled water, choked. tried to compose herself. "yeah, well." she took another sip, suddenly feeling very hot. "when I'm drunk my standards drop really, really low. obviously."

"then remind me to keep you that way. i mean, the things you said, and did? the _way _you said them, did them? absolutely shameless. i didn't know you had it in you."

"neither did i," she shot back, making him laugh even as she wanted to scream. he was fucking with her. he _had _to be fucking with her. the girl he was describing just wasn't her. sure, she had her sexual side, but she wasn't some kind of wildcat between the sheets.

except when it came to Damon, every rule, everything she thought she knew, went right out the window.

"oh, you didn't seem to have any complaints size-wise last night."

"like i said," she muttered, still trying to sort out her tangled thoughts, "low standards. i was shit-faced. i can't be held responsible for my actions."

and that's when she knew; that's when she laughed.

"Damon, you are such a dick. nothing happened last night."

"if by nothing you mean lots of things then yeah. absolutely."

"no, i mean nothing. because i was drunk, and you knew it."

"point being?"

"there's no way you'd have taken advantage of me when you knew i was wasted. not your style."

"actually, that's exactly my style," he told her, sounding decidedly annoyed.

"oh, that's right. i forgot you were the bad guy, who preys on vulnerable girls with zero inhibitions. i probably could've jumped you and you still wouldn't have let anything happen."

at his lengthy silence, Elena lifted a questioning brow. his eyes remained firmly focused on the road, and she saw a muscle in his jaw tic.

"oh my god," she said suddenly. "i did didn't i?"

no answer.

"i threw myself at you. that's why i woke up naked, that's why my underwear was hanging from a lamp. i threw myself at you!"

"i don't know why you sound so goddamn proud of yourself."

"I'm not, proud of myself..." exactly. no, not _proud_, but maybe a little shocked, and not entirely unpleasantly, by her own behavior.

yep. where Damon was concerned, the rules governing Elena gilbert flew right out the window - right out of the world.

"actually, i guess I'm proud of _you_."

"excuse me?"

"i don't know why i didn't figure it out myself. you've been stringing me along this whole time when in reality, you saved me from a nightmare and then saved me from myself. or from you. I'm not sure which."

"believe me, I'm rethinking that decision."

Elena reached out and gave Damon's hand a comforting squeeze. "you really are a stand up guy, Damon. thanks for not making me feel like an idiot."

"oh, you were an idiot. you were a supreme idiot. you redefined the word."

"good thing i waited until i was alone with you, then. someone else might have exploited it."

"yeah, well, i should've."

she was quiet for a moment, a smile playing on her mouth. "I'm impressed, Damon. and you know... maybe even a little offended."

Damon's jaw dropped. "are you kidding me?"

"well how could a guy resist a drunk naked girl? what does that say about me?"

"that you've got amazing taste."

she grinned. "every now and then i get lucky."

"that makes one of us," he said, scowling.

"it's a shame, you know." she was thoroughly enjoying herself now. "i bet we could've had a great time."

"can you just stop talking?"

"because you were right about one thing."

"seriously. stop talking."

enjoying herself more than she had in weeks, Elena shot Damon a devilish smile.

"i _am _bendy."

with something like a growl, Damon flipped on the radio and spun the dial so the volume blasted.

but this time, he sure as hell didn't play the audiobook. no - sexual stimulation was the last thing he needed.


	6. Chapter 6: Take

were it not for the purr of the engine and the low throb of jimi hendrix on the stereo, the car would've been completely silent. Damon and Elena were both lost in contemplation, thinking private thoughts, dreaming private dreams.

the sun had set several hours ago; they'd crossed the colorado border several miles back, and by mid afternoon the next day Elena would be breaking unwelcome news to her brother. but instead of worrying about and preparing for what would certainly be an unpleasant conversation, she couldn't stop hearing her own voice repeat three lethal words.

i _am _bendy.

she knew why she'd said it - she'd wanted to give Damon a taste of his own medicine, rile him up a bit to get back at him for screwing with her.

but she'd also said it with a sort of wistful twist in her belly. his description of the night before had been so vivid. so... promising. "the things i did - you did... _we _did... i had no idea you were so... bendy."

and suddenly she'd felt compelled to tell him she was. suddenly she'd wanted him to know just what her body could do.

suddenly she'd wanted to know what their bodies could do together.

damn it, she still did.

while Elena's curiosity had a faint blush rising in her cheeks, Damon's imagination was making something else rise entirely. if she hadn't been lost in her own world, Elena would've noticed that Damon was awfully... wriggly. he constantly shifted in his seat as he cursed Elena for her very physical effect on him. really, a guy could only last so long when his dick was straining against the denim of his jeans, rock hard and ready.

god, he could still feel the softness of her bare breasts against his bare chest, could still taste that avid, playful tongue. it had been a good twelve hours since he'd held her in his arms, but it seemed that the lust-fueled fire inside him was only burning brighter and brighter.

i _am _bendy, she'd said.

he could only imagine - and imagine he did.

in the passenger seat, Elena was growing restless as well. the interior of the car felt so... small. so intimate. with the slightest movement of her arm she'd be able to feel the fine hairs, the solid muscle, of his naked bicep. she'd be able to feel him.

god she wanted to feel him, wanted to crawl into his lap, to capture his mouth to -

"I'm pretty tired." Damon's voice broke into Elena's thoughts and made her jump in response. he added a fake yawn for emphasis and continued. "would you mind crashing for a few hours at a hotel or something? not for the night, i just need to recharge. maybe take a shower, wake up a bit."

a very cold shower, he thought dryly.

Elena swallowed. would she survive the living arrangements that had gotten her into so much trouble less than twenty-four hours earlier? could she possibly stay away from him when they were sharing such close quarters?

"I'm not," she said finally. she _thought _she'd be able to resist him, to stay away... but everything she did around Damon seemed to defy her usual logic. "tired. i can drive."

Damon shot her an amused look. "how cute. you actually thought i'd let you drive my car.

she sent him a glare in return. "is this a guy thing? you're the only one who gets to drive your precious car?"

"it's a penis thing," he said, grinning for the first time in hours. "women can't drive. I'm pretty sure that's a statistical fact."

Elena snorted. "you're hilarious. you know that by being sexist you're just sabotaging this trip. if you let me drive we wouldn't lose time."

"i've got eternity," he reminded her, pulling off the highway when he spotted a sign for a comfort inn.

"i don't."

"easy to fix that. want me to?"

she blinked at the question. after a moment she managed a light answer. "depends. do i have to spend that eternity with you?"

he only laughed. Elena didn't. her mind began to race. _easy to fix that. want me to? _

he could legitimately give her eternity.

he could, but no, she didn't want him to.

except... except sometimes she wondered if it didn't matter what she wanted. that it only mattered what she _needed._ which wasn't eternity, but what came with it: protection, safety, maybe even the illusion of stability for her and jeremy. no more dealing with this far-reaching obsession over the blood pumping in her veins. no more doppelgänger curse. no more klaus. no more fear.

when Damon dodged a pothole and pulled into the gravel lot of the motel Elena yanked herself from her dark thoughts. the idea of it - of accepting eternity - was one that seemed to pop up more and more frequently in the back of her mind. determinedly she pushed it aside.

"back in a sec," Damon said, climbing out of the driver's seat and heading for the check-in office. she wondered if he'd be getting adjoining rooms again - did motels even offer adjoining rooms? - or if he'd go with separate ones all together.

it would be safer, smarter, having a wall between them. but sometimes, just sometimes, it was more satisfying to say 'the hell with it' - to give in to temptation.

Damon interrupted her dangerous thoughts again when he slipped behind the wheel again, still infuriatingly aware of his persistent hard-on. he was getting desperate for that ice cold shower.

"we're around back," he said unnecessarily, rounding the parking lot and taking one of the many empty spaces.

the lack of other cars made Elena edgy. knowing they were essentially alone made the intimacy of it so much more intense.

she kept remembering the moment when he'd dragged her from an underwater grave, the moment when he'd brought her back from the night that flipped her world upside down. to the moment when her eyes met his through a blur of tears. she remembered so little else of the night, but the feel of his arms around her was embedded in her brain.

he could make her feel guarded, protected, and entirely exposed all at once.

he could make her feel so many overwhelming things.

turning off the ignition, Damon twirled a single key ring around his finger and opened the driver's side door. habit had him skirting the hood of the car and opening her door as well.

"they don't have any adjoining rooms," he said, "and if memory serves, leaving you to your own nefarious devices is a bad idea."

"nefarious?" she asked, amused.

"nefarious," he confirmed, opening the motel room door as he spoke.

what greeted them was a little round table accompanied by two chairs and a small dresser. mass-printed watercolors were mounted on one wall; on the opposite was an outdated tv. there was hotel stationery on the table, a carafe for coffee on the dresser, the standard bible on the nightstand.

and in the middle of it all, a single king-sized bed.

"fuck," Damon muttered. "i asked for two twins. I'm pretty sure the guy up front was stoned out of his mind."

he sighed. "gimme a minute, i'll go sort this out." as he went to do just that, he considered compelling the man at the desk to share his stash. he'd welcome the disconnected high of pot if it meant he could distance himself from this situation, from this woman.

thinking and paying little attention, Damon turned and took a step forward only to slam right into her. he jumped back as though her touch burned him. maybe, he thought ruefully, it did. "sorry."

she didn't answer. she only stood there, ponytail swinging as she recovered her balance, head tilted back as she looked up at him, eyes big, brown and devastating.

"you don't have to," she said after a long, pulsing moment.

"huh?" trapped in the chocolate depths of her eyes, Damon had to snap himself back to the present.

"get another room."

he forced a laugh. "are you drunk again?" damn it, she was unnerving him with that steady gaze. unnerving him while a flicker of _something _danced in her eyes, something he couldn't quite name. something that made him nervous and antsy and intrigued.

"not a bit."

"you sure? i really don't feel like babysitting you again. you're such a lush."

"occasionally. but right now, I'm one hundred percent sober," she answered softly.

Damon swallowed, closed his eyes for a moment before meeting hers again. "i think you should tell me what's going on in that head of yours, Elena."

"I'm not sure," she said honestly, turning away. she walked to the far side of the room and dropped her duffle on the bed, flicking a light on as she went. her steps were somehow purposeful and hesitant all at once.

watching her from across the room, Damon unbuttoned his shirt in a calculated move - the sight of his muscled torso was a weapon he enjoyed having in his sexual arsenal. and he suddenly wanted very badly to share that arsenal with her. because something was happening here, something was crackling around them, between them. when she looked back over at him he watched with satisfaction as her brown eyes lowered from his blue ones down the length of his upper body.

jesus, he wanted to see those eyes go black. go blind.

Elena's continued to watch Damon as she pulled a t-shirt off of the top of her pile of clothes, knowing by its threadbare softness that it was the minnie mouse tee she loved to sleep in. she sent Damon a little half-smile. "no peeking," she told him, turning to face the wall.

with sinuous movements she caught the hem of her shirt and peeled it off over her head. dropped it and reached back for the clasp of her pale pink bra.

"i could help you with that," Damon offered in a hoarse voice.

she looked over her shoulder, that little smile still in place. with an easy flick of her fingers she unhooked the bra. continued to hold his gaze as she let the lacy pink confection fall to the floor.

"no need," she murmured in response.

"okay, Elena. i think now would be a good time to stop it."

"stop what?"

"whatever you're doing - whatever you're playing at. you're getting really close to the point of no return, because if you think I'm gonna walk away from you again you're dead wrong. not after what you put me through last night."

"sorry about that," she answered, not sounding sorry in the least. she could feel Damon's eyes stroking the skin of her back, her shoulders, her neck. imagined his hands tracing the same curves. "it's just that - well, you know full well that you're sexy. and i was drunk. plus, it's been a long time for me." she looked back at him again. her body was angled in such a way that he could just see the curve of her breast. he wondered if there was some point when a man became so overcome by lust that his heart simply stopped and he dropped dead.

he seemed to be in a position to find out.

"so, you know. drunk girl, hot guy, hormones. dangerous mix."

"this time you're not a drunk girl, Elena."

she made a hum of acknowledgment, neither denying nor confirming his statement. "turn around, would you?"

after a moment of hesitation he did as she asked, but his sharp ears still caught the erotic sound of her zipper dragging lower, of rough denim against soft flesh as she slid her jeans down her long legs.

"Elena, you're getting in way over your head."

"i haven't done that in a long time - not purposely," she told him. his hands were clenched in tight fists as he fought wave after wave of heat. "but right now... i want to look beneath the surface."

"you don't know what you want."

"i think..." she licked her lips slowly. "i do know."

Damon didn't dare breathe. every muscle in his body was coiled, tense, ready to spring. the animal inside him strained wildly against its tether.

"you can turn around now," she said softly.

his heart thudded in his chest as he faced her.

Elena stood at the foot of the bed. the pink panties she was still wearing matched the bra she'd already discarded. her body, ripe, warm, ready, seemed to glow. every inch of her was stunning in its sensual beauty. her perky breasts were tipped with hard, pebbled nipples.

"you don't know what - "

"I'm doing?"

"no," Damon said, voice sounding strangled. "you don't know what i can do. what i will do if you don't walk away right now."

she took a step closer. "i want to know. i want you to do the things you said we did last night. i want you to use me. i want to use you. I'm tired of over-thinking this. you. me. i have no idea what any of this means," she continued, and her tone grew serious. "i don't know what it could lead to, if anything. all i know is..."

she swallowed and took another step toward him.

"i want you to touch me, Damon."

"i won't touch," he warned, fighting the magnetic force between them, fighting to keep calm. "i'll bruise. i'll _take._ i'll make you scream, Elena. i'll make you feel things you didn't know you could feel. make you do things you'd be ashamed of in daylight. think really goddamn hard. because if i let go, there's no turning back. not until i've had every single taste, every single touch. not until you're _mine_."

he could hear the rapid beat of her heart, could see the faint throb of the pulse point in her neck. he could see the fear and excitement in her eyes, the nerves and the desire. she inhaled slowly, very slowly, then let her breath out in a rush.

"well, Elena? you've got ten seconds to decide. is this what you really want?"

all she could see was his face, dotted by the brilliant blue of his eyes. those eyes capable of such staggering emotion, those eyes that could soothe her as easily as they set her on fire.

and she nodded slowly.

"this is what i want."

the tether snapped. the beast roared. the man pounced.

he was going to show her exactly what it meant to be his.


	7. Chapter 7: Don't Think, Just Feel

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is rated M for a reason :)

* * *

the intensity of sheer, overwhelming sensation sent shock waves through Elena's body as Damon's mouth closed over hers with a dazzling ferocity. his hands cupped her slim hips, then slid up her torso, thumbs brushing her breasts.

"it's too late now," he growled, capturing those lush spheres and twisting her nipples between his fingers. pain and pleasure. she'd known he'd bring her both - more, she knew her body would welcome, would _crave, _both.

his teeth nipped her earlobe, his harsh breath brushed her ear. his mouth moved to her neck, his tongue pressed against the pulse point hammering in the hollow of her throat. his hands still toyed mercilessly with her breasts as his head raised, drawing back just enough to look her straight in the eye.

"has anyone ever done this to you, Elena?"

"has anyone else ever made your skin so slick, so hungry, so electric? made your heart pound so hard it bruises your ribs?"

she shuddered, arched her back to give him full access to her breasts, but she couldn't manage a reply.

Damon's voice was hard - some dim part of her registered what sounded like anger - when he spoke again.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll scream my name. and when I'm done, I'm gonna fuck you all over again."

the moment the words left his lips Damon felt something shift between them, saw something flicker across her face. and he recognized it instantly - after all, he'd inspired the feeling in countless victims over the years.

she was shaking. in a heartbeat she'd gone from hot and ready to chilled and scared.

"shit," Damon murmured, letting his hands drop and catching her fingers in a loose grip. "I'm sorry. i didn't mean to be so - damn it Elena, you make me crazy."

there was a tremor in her voice when she answered, and guilt twisted inside him. "no - no, it's okay. i told you... it's okay."

"it's not. i won't lie," he continued, leaning forward to brush his lips over hers. "everything i said - jesus, i want it more than i've ever wanted anything. i want to fuck you brainless. i want to make you feel so good it hurts.

"but i didn't mean it the way it came out. i'd never use you, Elena. you're not some girl to get off on. you're so much more than that." and, he thought privately, hopefully - just maybe - there would be other chances. other nights when their bodies intertwined, hot and slick and writhing.

but if this was the only time, if this was his only chance to show her everything he felt toward her, to share the depth of his emotion, to give her all the things he so badly wanted to give, he wasn't going to do it this way.

his own pulse was calming, the vicious lust retreating so that he could see her through clear eyes. hers were wide. her bottom lip quivered. needing the distance, needing to see every inch of her, Damon took a step back. his eyes drifted up and down her perfect body, lingered on her flushed face.

for a moment, he was robbed of speech. when he found his voice his words were choked. "do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Elena?"

she couldn't seem to drag her eyes from his face, but her hand slid to the back of her head as she tugged the elastic from her hair. released from its ponytail her hair fell in tousled waves down her back. still staring straight at him, she gave a little toss of her head in a sexual move as old as time.

"maybe you do," he said, more to himself than her. his fingers burned; he wanted so badly to touch her, to claim her.

"sometimes i do... when you look at me the way you are now."

she started to step toward him but Damon raised a hand to ward her off. "don't move," he instructed in a level tone. "just let me look at you."

she could feel his gaze as it roved her body, lingering on her mouth, her breasts, the slight flare of her hips, the little triangle of pink concealing her center.

slowly, deliberately, Damon reached for her. instead of honing in on her most sensitive areas his hand cupped her cheek.

"lie down, Elena."

she was powerless to do anything else. the idea of denying him never crossed her mind. the fact that she was surrendering every part of herself, body, mind - heart - none of those things registered for her.

but he saw it, saw the way she yielded to him, so trusting, and he knew she would give him anything, everything.

she lay back on the bed and Damon straddled her; she could feel him pressing against her aching center through the thin mesh of his gym pants. the arch of her hips was involuntary, the sound that escaped her lips impossible to stifle.

his hands settled firmly on her shoulders when she tried to rise, and he used the hard muscles of his thighs to force her into stillness.

"don't move. not an inch. i just want you to be. just trust me."

she nodded mutely with every intention of doing as he said, but with his legs pressing her down so firmly she was even more aware of the hard length of him.

"i need to - " her voice was choked. "Damon, i have to feel you."

"you will," he murmured. "but not yet. not yet."

his hands were feather light over her skin, moving down her arms, trailing inward toward her navel, skimming up to her breasts. again her back arched - and his hands returned to her shoulders, pressed her down again.

"Damon - " his name came out as a plea.

"shh," he whispered. "there's no hurry. we have all the time in the world."

now his fingers moved to her nipples, but instead of claiming them as they had before he only brushed the aching peaks with the pads of his thumbs, listening intently to her ragged breathing.

"does that feel good, Elena?"

"yes. please - don't stop. i need you to - "

again his fingers skimmed her nipples, making her jerk. she'd never known how sensitive she was to the slightest touch - perhaps because she wasn't particularly sensitive, unless that touch was Damon's.

"you need me to what?" he asked, removing his hands and sliding his thumb over her bottom lip. her mouth opened as she drew his thumb into her mouth, sucked it even as she stared at him. she needed a taste, any taste at all.

she scraped her teeth along his thumb before speaking. "i need you to touch me. please, can't you just touch me?"

"i am," he answered, smiling. after all, his hands were tangled in her hair.

"no - touch _me_, Damon."

"tell me. tell me where you want my hands."

she caught his wrists and dragged those hands to her breasts, interlaced her fingers with his and molded the hot, soft skin along with him. seeing her hands playing with herself, seeing them move with his own, was unbearably erotic.

"_tell_ me," he demanded.

"on my nipples. please - do what you did before. it felt so good i couldn't breathe."

"what did i do before?" he asked idly, toying with her nipples ever so lightly.

"squeeze them. tease them. i want you to - oh, god," she said, breath catching when his thumbs and forefingers tightened on the sensitive swell of nerve endings, tugged, twisted. "yes - Damon, oh god it _hurts_!"

instantly he withdrew, worry flashing across his face. instantly she dragged his hands back.

"no, no, no - it hurts so _good_... i didn't know... i didn't know how close they are... pain and pleasure..." she gasped when he gave a sharp pull on her nipples, and before she could regain her breath his mouth replaced his hands. now it was his teeth that tortured, his tongue that swirled in hot, wet circles. her heart raced so loudly even Elena would've been able to hear it, except every sense but taste and touch had fallen away.

mindlessly she reached for his hand again, brought it to the quivering skin of her abdomen. "touch me," she begged. "i need it - i need you inside me."

slowly, Damon sat up, then slid off the bed. stood at the foot of it, drank in the delicious sight of Elena's fully aroused body. her lips were swollen with kisses, her breasts full and heaving. he had to see the rest.

he leaned over her, his hands on her slim hips. his thumbs hooked under the bikini strings of her panties, and he slid them along her legs, let them fall to the floor.

"you're so damned sexy," he murmured. his body throbbed for hers.

"you - your turn," she managed. instead of feeling vulnerable or nervous she felt beautiful. it was impossible to feel anything else under that tender, hungry gaze.

with torturous slowness Damon drew down and stepped out of his own pants. Elena's eyes grew so large that he managed a strangled laugh. she'd already known he had a magnificent body. that his cock should live up to those exact standards shouldn't be a surprise, but it was anyway.

"we'll take it slow," he whispered. "i want to feel you tight around me, Elena. i want to slide into you, let you feel me inch by inch."

"there are - " she echoed his choked laugh - "there seem to be a lot of inches."

"you'll be ready for me," he said, tracing his fingers along her ankles, then cupping the backs of her knees. gently he spread her legs wider. "open up for me, Elena. i want to see you."

she did as he asked, and his eyes honed in on that throbbing center. his gaze electrified her; her hips trembled.

"would - could you - "

"what is it, baby?" he knew what she wanted, but he knew what _he_ wanted as well. to hear her ask, beg, plead.

"touch me. your hands - your fingers... touch me, Damon."

he abandoned her knees, skimmed those fingers up, closer, closer. his thumb whispered over her and she cried out.

"please - don't tease me, Damon. please, just touch me, _please_."

"not yet," he said again, and leaned over her so that his mouth hovered over her, not close enough to touch - but she felt his breath on her, and it made her quiver. slowly he used his thumbs to open her.

"oh, baby, you're so wet." his words trembled over that desperately sensitive spot and her hips jerked upwards.

"Damon, Damon, oh god, Damon." she repeated his name mindlessly, lost in sensation.

he blew a little exhalation on that magic female button. her hips arched wildly. his tongue darted out, swept over her in one long, hot motion, and at the same instant he slid two deft, magic fingers inside her... curled and pulsed those fingers in time with the curl and pulse of his tongue against her.

when he used the slightest nip of teeth on that delicious bundle of nerves, she shattered with a broken moan.

limp and blind beneath him, Elena could only say his name again and again. the aftershocks of the orgasm left her trembling. she wasn't sure she'd ever recover.

he didn't give her a chance. her eyes were still unseeing when she felt one quick, beautiful thrust as he buried himself inside her. her legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord - she wasn't capable of thought, wasn't capable of anything but movement and feeling. her thighs held him tightly in place as she arched, shifting angles ever so slightly so that every inch of him was deep inside her.

that was all it took - a frozen moment when everything he was joined with everything she was. that was all it took to send her hurtling over the edge again.

in the end, he did exactly what he'd said he'd do - except she reciprocated. their bodies, wild and desperate and hot and insatiable, moved together in a timeless dance.

and Elena discovered that somehow, with Damon, it was possible to make love and fuck each other's brains out all at once.


	8. Chapter 8: Come Together

it was the early hours of the morning when Elena fell asleep, sated, satisfied, and not a little smug.

over a century and a half of practice made Damon salvatore into a lover whose skill - and endurance, god knew he had an endless supply of endurance - defied description. how many times had they come together in the night, their bodies interlocking perfectly like puzzle pieces finally finding their mate?

for that matter, how many times had she _come_? she'd lost the ability to keep track - although Damon could've informed her - smirkingly - that her orgasms numbered in the high teens.

despite it all, despite the hazy blur of ecstasy that made coherent thought all but impossible, Elena had been dimly aware that this was what had been missing all along - from her other relationships, from other hook-ups - from her life. perhaps from her very soul.

because Damon completed Elena - figuratively, literally, entirely. when he slowly withdrew from her body the last time Elena felt a keen, overwhelmingly intense sense of loss.

but then he pulled her close, their bodies curving together; the smooth skin of her back was still hot from his touch as it fitted perfectly to the hard muscles of his chest. his arm draped over her ribcage, his hand cupping her left breast in a tender, possessive way. she lifted her hand and covered his so that their twined fingers lay soft and warm over her heart.

as she drifted off, the thought crossed Elena's mind that Damon salvatore had officially ruined her for any other man.

but she wouldn't take back a second of it. even if they were never together again, she'd cherish the memory of this night, when passion and lust and - yes, damn it, _love, _culminated in an experience she'd never dreamed possible. he'd made her laugh, he'd made her whimper, he'd made her beg. he'd taken complete advantage of her in the most delicious way.

he'd quite enjoyed calling her bluff about being "bendy" - especially when he found out that it wasn't a bluff at all.

he experimented, claimed her in positions that would make her blush in the light of day. he explored every inch of her until he knew exactly where to touch, how to move, how deep to thrust.

he did things to her no one else had done before, using tongue and teeth and wicked fingertips all at once until she flew over that dangerous edge, then brought his hand, wet with her passion, to her lips. her eyes were dark, nearly black, as she watched him - and her tongue flicked out, swept the pad of his thumb.

and she moaned, tasting herself, tasting the ecstasy he'd brought her.

he'd traced the crease of her secret center without dipping inside her, deliberately skirting the bundle of nerve endings - that magic female spot desperate for his fingers. she'd begged him to touch her, but instead he'd captured her hand, pressed it to her hot pulsing sex, caught her ankles in a firm grip and shoved them back, forcing her knees up, spreading her legs and instructing her to play with herself.

the idea of it seemed so shameful - touching oneself was a private thing, and not one Elena had particularly indulged in before. but under his midnight stare she felt beautiful and did as he asked. found herself luxuriating in the act, unbelievably aroused by his eyes as they feasted on her naughty fingers. she was on the brink of orgasm when he'd snatched her hands away, dragged her to the foot of the bed, kept her knees drawn to her chest and slammed into her in one deep, powerful stroke. she didn't have time to prepare for the physical assault, couldn't hold back, and as he felt her tighten around him, felt her soak his cock with her devastated pleasure, he took a moment to smile down at this wonderful girl, this woman who was every man's dream... but when he saw her watching him through half-closed eyes and toying with her own breasts he lost control and began pounding and pumping, rough and merciless and mouthwateringly _hot,_ until he burst inside her.

he'd pinned her to the wall and ravaged her mouth. he'd snagged her ankles and shoved her legs upright, pressing her back to the headboard of the bed, slipped into her, made her cry his name as each new angle touched another sensitive spot and set her free.

she'd straddled him, used her mouth on him, nearly choked on the length of him as he fought to keep his hips still, to keep himself from quite simply fucking her mouth. as abruptly as she'd started she stopped, eluding his grasp when he reached for her. slowly, torturously, she lowered herself onto him, let him impale her, penetrating deep, rocking back and forth, back and forth, raising herself above him until he was barely inside her, making him beg as she teased the head of his cock with her velvet center, and when she knew he was on the verge of breaking she dropped her hips, let him plunge deep, felt him fill her, thick and throbbing - and felt his sex flood her body as he came with a shuddering gasp.

no man had ever come inside her before; she'd always had Stefan, who, like Damon, was physically incapable of fathering a child, pull out before he finished. yet here, now, with Damon moving inside her, she couldn't bear to let him go. she wanted to feel, truly feel, what she could do to him. she wanted to feel his release and know she was responsible for the aftershocks rocking his body.

he could've gone on forever - she could've gone on forever, or so she believed, but with each successive orgasm her body weakened, her defenses dropped, her bones melted until she was limp, and finally he knew that even though his appetite for her was anything but slaked he had to let her sleep. slowly, hating to break contact, he withdrew from her body - even as she protested - telling her firmly that they needed rest.

she would, he thought, smiling to himself, feel sore in the morning.

even as he gloried in the events of the past hours, even as he held her bare body against his and tasted her on his lips, the doubts crept in,

what had this meant, really? why now? had it been pure impulse, the result of her succumbing to the undeniable fire burning brilliantly between them? had it been curiosity? was he an experiment, a mere comparison to what she had with Stefan? was this some sort of audition? a whim?

or was it _real? _christ, it felt so real. he couldn't have made it all up in his head; she had to have felt the things he did, the beautiful sense of fulfillment, of rightness. when they joined together he could only think, "it's her. she's the one." he'd known that already, but when their bodies became one it only solidified the idea, made him absolutely certain that this was right, that this was how it was meant to be, how they were meant to be. they belonged together, heart, body, soul. and now that he'd had her, no matter what her motives had been, he simply didn't think he could let her go.

oh, god, he desperately hoped he wouldn't have to let her go. because ultimately he always, _always _did what he felt was best for Elena, always did as she asked and gave her what she needed (unless, of course, she "needed" to do something stupid, like put herself in danger and play the martyr - in those instances his philosophy was to throw her in the trunk of his car and get the hell out of Mystic - but that was beside the point).

because in matters of the heart Damon always gave her what she needed. hadn't he given her space, kept his distance even though it killed him a little more every day? and now he could feel, genuinely _feel_ those pieces of his heart that had been withering to dust - he could feel her inside him like a gentle rain blessing a dying blade of grass. she gave him sunshine, shelter, hope, _life_.

and then in an instant the sun was replaced by pitch black. the hope vanished, left an aching void behind. the cool rain, a balm on his bleeding soul, became a vicious storm that beat violently down on his head; the shelter she'd offered crumbled, his empty daydreams laughed in cruel, malicious glee, the timid blade of grass, pelted by the angry rain, collapsed, defeated, into the earth.

in an instant, everything inside him went dark. everything inside him died.

in her sleep, Elena murmured one word.

"Stefan..."

* * *

AUTHOR'S QUESTION: How much do you hate me right now? Thanks to everyone reviewing and reading and following, I'm new to and getting such a welcome reception is pretty fantastic. I'll post the next part soon I promise, likely sometime tomorrow. Also, I know the lack of capitalization bothers some of you and I'm really sorry for that but this story is already written, I'm just teasing you guys with a little bit at a time. Capitalizing things can interrupt the flow of my writing sometimes but As You Can See I'm working on it :) I have been doing a find/replace deal with their names anyway but yeah - my apologies. Okay, I'll be back with more soon, promise. I can't seem to hold out long on you guys and it's so awesome that you're eager for more. SOON! - katherine (it's my name and i'll capitalize if i want to ;) )


	9. Chapter 9: Morning, Sunshine

for the second time in as many days, Elena woke alone in bed, the space beside her still warm from Damon's body, the sound of water hitting porcelain through the thin wall announcing his whereabouts.

she smiled a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile and stretched luxuriously.

god, she'd never known sex could be like that, could be so staggering both emotionally and physically, so tender and rough all at once. he'd made her laugh, made her sob his name. she'd made his eyes go black with desire. it made her feel powerful and beautiful and intoxicated. it was safe to say that Elena Gilbert didn't need alcohol these days. she was drunk on Damon Salvatore.

she sat up in bed, stretched again and considered, with something like awe, that even though they'd come together - literally, she thought with a grin - countless times during the night, she still yearned for him only hours later.

in a moment of impulsive inspiration, she tossed aside the sheets, naked as a jaybird and utterly unselfconscious, deciding that the perfect way to start the day was waiting right on the other side of the bathroom door.

she walked toward it with a tingling sense of anticipation.

in the shower, Damon scrubbed soap angrily over his skin, wondering if he'd ever rid himself of her scent, loathing his vampire hyperawareness which only seemed to intensify when it came to Elena.

in his head he heard her whispering Stefan's name over and over in the night, the word a searing brand on his brain.

scowling, he shoved that head back under the scalding spray of water as if to burn the sleepy murmur from his memory.

at the sound of the knob turning, his neck whipped in the direction of the door. and every cell of his being shot to attention at the image of Elena, standing in the doorway, wearing a small smile and nothing else.

now that she stood in front of him, she found herself feeling suddenly shy, even a little awkward.

"hi," she managed, acutely aware of her nakedness.

"hi," he managed, acutely aware of her nakedness.

"i thought..." lord, how ridiculous was her hesitation after the night they'd spent together? she cleared her throat determinedly and forced a cheeky grin. "i thought you might like company."

her eyes skimmed his body, widened at the sight of the hard length of them. those eyes were lit with humor when they met his again.

"apparently i would," he said, forcing a grin of his own.

"so i see."

hating himself for being so powerless against his own love for her, he slid the glass door open. hesitation vanishing in an instant, Elena crossed the bathroom, stepped into the little shower stall and slid her arms around him, planting a long, sumptuous kiss on that sexy, devastating mouth of his.

"good morning," she told him, running her hands up and down the length of his muscled back.

"it's looking like it," he answered with a lightning grin.

he emptied his mind of everything but the feel of her skin against his, her smooth softness against his rough palms, the sounds of her breathy sighs. he backed her up against the tiled wall of the shower, used his legs to nudge hers apart. his fingers found her, hot, wet, ready. in one fluid motion he yanked her up; she automatically opened for him. in one deep, animal thrust, he filled her, his mouth covering hers and swallowing her stunned gasp of pleasure.

he drew back far enough to look down at her. her eyes were closed, her mouth curved.

"look at me, Elena," he told her. he wouldn't let her forget which Salvatore held her in his arms, wouldn't let her forget the magic between them.

she did as he asked, looking up at him through slumbrous bedroom eyes.

"say my name," he instructed, hypnotizing her with his brilliant gaze.

"Damon..."

"again."

"Damon."

"again."

"Oh God, _Damon_."

each time she said it he drove deeper into her, their eyes locked. nothing on earth could make either look away.

it was _his_ name on her lips as her eyes went blind. moments later he followed her over the edge and into the gloriousness darkness of oblivion.

and even as he crested that delicious wave of passion, he heard it in the back of his mind. heard Elena's voice caressing his brother's name even as she slept beside him.

he so desperately wanted to hate her for it.

but oh-so-predictably, he hated himself instead.


	10. Chapter 10: Speak Now

Self-loathing was something Damon was all too familiar with, and as he shrugged a white tee over his sculpted shoulders he found himself all but drowning in the feeling.

But damn it, he was helpless, eternally helpless, when it came to all things Elena.

And denying a naked Elena? That was a thought nearly beyond comprehension.

But not _thoroughly_ beyond comprehension - which was exactly why he felt none of the postcoital glow that had accompanied the night before. Instead, he ached, the wounds Elena constantly, albeit unknowingly, inflicted on him forever throbbing with pain and unending frustration.

Stefan, Stefan, _it will always be Stefan._

Why had he ever tried to convince himself differently? Why allow that seed of hope, that tiny but ever present seed, germinate, take root, dare to blossom?

It made everything so much worse, to taste the light before being cast into shadow - and then to reach for that light _again_ even knowing he'd soon be abandoned, alone in shadow? It was unbearable. Yet that's exactly what he'd done under the hot spray of the shower; taken, desperately taken what he now knew he'd never truly have.

Fuck it, fuck that. Hadn't he simply turned from crazed love for one woman - one woman who scorned him, tossed him aside, laughed while doing so - to fiery, consuming love for another?

She would never laugh at him for his love. No - she would feel sorry for him. She would look up into his eyes with depths of pity reflected in her own, and in her attempt to remove the knife buried in his heart she'd simply twist it deeper.

Tt will always be Stefan.

Conviction settled like a steel cloak over his shoulders. He was done. He was done hurting and hoping, done enabling himself by turning to Elena even when he knew she'd never turn back to him. Perhaps in passion; last night and the morning proved that. But never in love. Never in love.

"Hurry up, Elena," he called out in a deceptively casual voice. "We've gotta hit the road."

And then they'd go to the place that she called home - the same place he'd once called home. Not anymore. From the moment he dropped her off at her door, he was leaving mystic, leaving heartbreak, leaving hope.

Damon's voice snapped Elena out of her reverie. She wished he'd stayed with her longer, let her enjoy the intimate closeness of this daily ritual spiced with the exciting heat of lust, the soft warmth of love.

She wanted to wash his back. She wanted to stand in his arms under the shower and listen to his heartbeat. She wanted her to hold him, she wanted him to hold her.

She rinsed the last of the conditioner from her hair and stepped out of the shower stall, absently towel-drying her hair. She swept the towel up like a turban and wrapped it around her head only to realize it was the single towel at her disposal.

It was incredibly silly to blush, but the idea of going out into the brightness of the motel room naked seemed sharply different from going bare and vulnerable into the fogged heat of the little bathroom.

She shook her head at herself and called for Damon. "Hey, Damon? Could I, um - are you done with your towel?"

Silence greeted the question, and Elena shook her head with a small smile. "If you think you can lure me out there by ignoring me," she said through a crack in the door, "I guess you're right."

But when she walked out of the bathroom, Damon's wet towel was tossed on the rumpled bedsheets. The room was empty.

Rushing now, and suddenly filled with worry, Elena dried off and grabbed a shirt from her duffel, threw on a pair of shorts, then rooted through her purse for her cell.

She dialed, heart racing, fear mounting. Klaus had a long reach. It wouldn't surprise her in the least if those murderous hands had somehow managed to wrap themselves around Damon's throat.

When he answered with an easy, "Yeah?" Elena's breath came easier.

"Where are you?"

"In the car," he told her in a voice that said, 'where else would I be?'

"Oh." She frowned, confused and trying to repress the strange, uneasy feeling unfurling in her gut.

"Told you to hurry up," he said. "We've gotta head out."

"Okay," she answered, trying to censor the baffled hurt from her tone. "I'll be out in a sec. Just let me grab my stuff."

He didn't respond.

He'd already hung up.

From an outsider's perspective, everything seemed to be going okay. Going well, even. On the outside, all was easy, breezy, fine-just-fine.

Inside, all was tumult and pain and confusion.

Damon continued to steel himself against his greatest weakness, which was particularly hard when he could still smell her, taste her, feel her. Hear her scream and whimper and whisper his name.

Hear her whisper his brother's.

Elena's heart sobbed in pain, sheer willpower keeping the tears from her eyes.

What happened? What changed in the ten minutes after he'd left her alone in the shower? What had she done - what had he done?

She was scared to ask. Because a part of her was terrified she already knew the answer.

What if she'd completely misread the previous night? If their coming together had just been the mad passion of bodies joining - not hearts, not souls? Had it just been sex?

Had she been nothing more than a one night stand? A challenge, a conquest, a fun little game?

God, he'd played brilliantly. So well that she'd truly never questioned his love for her. So well that she'd truly believed it was real, it was pure - that the love of this beautiful, tortured man was hers to hold close.

But his offhand manner belied all those convictions of his love, all the certainties she'd come to believe over the past year. All those times he'd looked at her soulfully, heartbreakingly, all those times he'd come for her, saved her, made her believe there was good in him. And he'd made her wonder, made her heart yearn, broken that heart in two. She hadn't _wanted _this. She'd had Stefan, steady, loving Stefan. But everything had changed that past summer, and she'd begun to want something else entirely. Someone else. And not only with her body - god knew she'd always felt the spark between them, wanted to explore it - but with her heart.

Her brain had been the ultimate barrier. Her brain told her it would never work, refusing to let her trust the naive hope of a wayward heart.

And now she knew she should've listened to that brain. Instead, she'd betrayed her heart.

Because now he had that heart, had the love of his brother's girl. And now that he had it, he didn't want it.

The hurt was unbelievable in its potency. Elena wanted nothing more than to get away from him, this man whose smile came so easily, the man who was apparently oblivious to the fact that he held her heart in is hands. And she was left with a gaping, aching hole in her chest.

He didn't want her. Had never truly wanted her. Later she'd find the energy to hate him for that, but now she could only lick her wounds silently. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he'd devastated her this way. Refused to let him know that she'd allowed herself to dream of more lazy kisses and feverish nights - and so much more. She wanted to be with him, really be with him, not in the shadows of a dingy motel bed but in the light, where everyone could see. She wanted dates and hand holding and all the stupid things a stupid girl longed for so foolishly.

No, he absolutely could not know how badly his absent rejection hurt her, his casual, offhand attitude so contrary to her hopes of open tenderness and affection. In the late night hours, Elena's world had been remade into something amazing, something full of delicious, exciting possibilities. Everything had changed. For her, anyway.

For Damon, only one thing was any different. He'd finally bedded his brother's girl. Bravo, Salvatore.

In the quiet of the car, Elena chanced a glance at Damon. He was fiddling with the radio, oblivious to her pain, and damn him, he was smiling, looking for all the world like... well, like what he was. A smug guy wearing the smug expression of a man who'd spent his night getting laid.

She matched him smile for smile, perfectly reflecting his nonchalant attitude, like she didn't have a care in the world, like her heart hadn't been ripped from her chest.

And as she wore her supposed casualness around her like some sort of armor, it never once crossed Elena's mind that even as she told herself Damon had never truly loved her, he was telling himself that she would never truly love him.


	11. Chapter 11: Such a Fine Line

AUTHOR'S NOTE: You're not gonna be happy with me by the time you're done with this. Just a warning. But if you guys are eager enough in what is likely to be your post-read-outrage, maybe I'll post the next part in a couple hours :) Leave me love or hate, I just enjoy getting a reaction from my readers. And this one most definitely should.

* * *

Without Jeremy's presence, the ride back to mystic would've been unbearable. As it was, the experience was merely excruciating as Damon and Elena fought to keep up the charade of normalcy.

The fact that Damon let both Elena _and _Jeremy take their turn at the wheel was a testament to his desperation to get home as quickly as possible. His proximity to Elena was killing him, and he wouldn't tolerate any more pit stops than necessary, although Elena, who was equally desperate to get back, drew the line at forcing Jeremy to pee in a water bottle when he needed to empty his bladder.

Both Gilberts were fast asleep as Damon finally, _finally_ crossed the Virginia state line. He eyed Elena in the rearview mirror; she was in the back seat, curled up in a ball using her duffel as a pillow, and even in sleep a frown puckered her forehead. His hand itched, literally itched, to smooth the discontent away from her face, and he hated her for the impulse. Every time he thought she couldn't possibly hurt him any more, she managed to do just that.

Yeah. it was definitely time to get out of mystic. He'd been a distraction, a fun little "what happens in Colorado stays in Colorado" experience, nothing more, nothing less. Her heart belonged to Stefan; it was her body that betrayed her, and he couldn't blame her for it. God knew they'd been destined to come together eventually - the sparks between them were just too hot, and all that time sharing small spaces only sped up the inevitable. But now it was back to reality. Back to the Salvatore brother she loved.

Jeremy's head rested against the passenger side window. A little dribble of drool trailed from the corner of his mouth, which for some reason annoyed the living hell out of Damon.

The sky was painted soft pink as the car headed away from the setting sun. It was a little past eight, one of those warm summer nights when the light lingered, giving everything a dreamy golden glow. A slant of the fading light fell across Elena's cheek, illuminating that beautiful, troubled face, and Damon's jaw clenched involuntarily.

He jerked his eyes from her sleeping form and floored the gas in a futile attempt to outrun his own misery.

Maybe it was the force of his scowl that had Damon invading Elena's dreams. Even sleep refused to give her the refuge she so badly wanted, so badly _needed_.

In her dream she lay on a bed scattered with rose petals. She wore a translucent nightie that dipped low at the neck and fell high at the hip, and she was waiting for him, open for him, yearning for him.

His weight pressed her deeper into the mattress as he settled over her, and the smile on his lips was gentle.

"You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

"No," she told him, unable, unwilling, to lie.

"Sweet, sweet Elena." Damon's voice was a soft murmur as he moved inside her. His touch was tender and made her feel beautiful. She wanted to look at him forever, to watch him even as she felt him moving inside her, to see the absolute love lit by the flickering candlelight on his face.

Suddenly the flame shot high, then winked out just as quickly. The room went black, and now Damon's smooth, rocking movements were hard and rough and mean. His eyes were all she could see, twin orbs glinting wild and feral in the darkness.

"Damon, stop," she whimpered, wincing as he drove himself deep inside her, oblivious to her pain, to her needs. No - not oblivious. The exact opposite. She saw it in his eyes, saw the knowledge that he was hurting her. That he was enjoying it.

Her heart wept.

"Damon, it hurts," she begged, trying to draw away, trying to separate herself from him. Still he held her prisoner, his hips moving like lightning, each stroke vicious. She felt like he was going to rip her apart, and her vision blurred with tears. "Please, Damon - please, you have to stop. Damon you're hurting me!"

"This is what you wanted, baby," he said cruelly, beautiful lips curved in a nasty sneer. "I'm only giving you what you want."

"No - this isn't - please, stop!" Her voice was getting desperate, creeping up an octave, and she was no longer on a bed of rose petals - now it was a tangle of angry thorns.

He pumped himself into her, faster, faster. "That's right. Writhe for me. Slice up all that soft skin. I can smell your blood. I can taste your pain." He lowered himself so his mouth was beside her ear, his tongue flicking out to caress the lobe - and then his teeth were sinking into the vulnerable flesh, tugging brutally until he tasted blood. "It's delicious," he whispered. "Who knew you'd be such a good fuck?" And he yanked her legs apart further, impossibly wide, slamming deep inside her over and over. How could something that felt so good only minutes before hurt so badly now? How could her perfect lover turn into a demon mid-coitus? How could he go from making love to her to hurting her this way, so that her body no longer welcomed his? Instead he felt like an invasion, a battering ram at the gates that ruthlessly splintered wood and hinges, nails and crossbeams.

He was ruthlessly splintering her body, her soul, her heart.

"Why are you doing this?" She could barely speak, tasting the salt of her own tears as they traced the curves of her cheekbones and wound their way to her trembling lips. "Damon, why are you being like this?" Oh, God, her body was breaking.

"I'm not being _like_ anything, Elena. This is who I am. The monster under your bed is now in your bed, inside you, forever." His voice was low and vicious and satisfied. "I'll always be inside you, and you'll feel me there, and you'll never forget that i had you under me, moaning and begging and loving it. And the whole time I was fucking you, I was laughing. 'Cause you know what? I got you right where I wanted you. Come on, baby. Take it like a champ."

She forced her mind to go completely blank as he took the final plunge, spilling his seed inside her, his body rigid, holding her down, suffocating her. He tipped his head up and smiled a brilliant smile.

"Thanks for that," he said, before abruptly pulling out of her, and with the exit of his body hers trembled in relief. In devastation. And then shoved her back, had her head slapping smartly against the wooden headboard. "Now get the hell out of my bed. Go home, little girl. I'm all done with you."

Humiliated tears burned in her eyes as Elena stood on shaky legs. "I thought I was home. I thought you were home. I thought you were _my _home."

His derisive laugh sent goosebumps crawling down her broken, naked body.

"Elena! Elena, wake up! We're home!"

Jeremy's voice penetrated Elena's consciousness as she was jerked out of the nightmare. Home, she thought, stuck in that muddled place between dreams and consciousness. She was safe now. He couldn't hurt her now.

And as her mind cleared she almost laughed at herself. Because oh, he could hurt her now - so, so much more than he already had.

She shook herself to rid her mind of its cold, creeping thoughts. Her brother was getting out of the car and heading for the trunk to grab his things. Damon was silent in the driver's seat, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Like he couldn't wait to get the hell out of there - to get the hell away from her. The dream clung stubbornly to her as Elena fought back tears.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. None of this was the way it was supposed to be.

And suddenly she was angry, so goddamn angry. Her blood began to boil. Rage flooded her veins, and she tried to beat it back as she sat up and grabbed her bag, fighting the little button on the seat in front of her to force it forward. She needed out, she needed air, and she needed it now.

Her fingers were shaking and she cursed as the seat refused to budge. Damon let out a laugh that echoed the one from her dream and her skin prickled as he got out of the car and came around to the passenger side to move the seat for her.

"Thanks," she said, her tone anything but grateful.

He just shrugged. "Need a hand with anything?"

_Not one of yours, _she thought bitterly, but only said, "I can manage."

"Elena, I'm going in," Jeremy called out, heading for the door, then pausing to look over his shoulder. "Thanks for coming to get me," he added, looking at Damon.

"No problem."

Jeremy frowned, clearly having expected some clever "it's not like I had a choice" remark. But he'd take what he could get.

"I'll see you around, then."

"Actually, no." Damon offered his hand to help Elena out of the car; she ignored it, and him. Her eyes were burning holes in the upholstery, the dashboard, the windshield - she was surprised the world hadn't crumbled to ash courtesy of the heat of her anger. It was paralyzing her, but it felt so much better than the wrenching sadness.

"Huh?" Now Jeremy turned to walk back in their direction. "What's that mean?"

"I'm leaving town for a while," Damon answered, eyes flickering to Elena, wondering how she'd react - wondering if she'd even care. She didn't bat an eye. Of course, she was lost in her fury, eyes downcast as she struggled to master it. Had she heard his words, she probably would've given up the fight and caved, letting the anger free.

"Oh," Jeremy said, wrinkling his brow. "Well... okay..." He came forward, then hesitated, unsure how to say goodbye. Damon solved the problem by giving Jeremy a rough shove toward the house, tempering the gesture with a wry smile. "Don't be a stranger, man. And try not to kill too many people during your travels."

"No promises," Damon returned, his smile widening just a bit.

Jeremy was still frowning as he studied Damon. He wasn't an idiot, knew full well that something was up between the guy and his sister. He really didn't care to know what, exactly, and so decided to beat a quick retreat.

"Well... I'll let you guys say your goodbyes." And he was gone.

That last word dragged Elena out of her trance. She was half in, half out of the car, and now, her head snapped up as she launched to her feet, managing to rap that head against the car door in the process. She hardly felt it.

"Goodbyes?" She looked directly at Damon for the first time in hours. "What's he talking about?"

"I'm leaving," Damon told her, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, studying her through eyes that betrayed nothing. "Town," he clarified after a moment's silence.

"Excuse me?" It came out less like a question and more like an accusation.

He arched a brow. "Something wrong with your hearing?"

Elena gave up the battle, letting her fury break loose - and with it, all hell. "Oh, it's fine. I can't say the same for your brain, though." Her tone was pure acid.

"Wow, someone's in a mood." He had the audacity to look amused.

Blood pumped hard and fast through Elena's veins. "What the hell do you mean you're leaving?"

"It's a pretty simple concept, Elena."

Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest, her rage reaching flash point. She dropped her bag on the ground and whirled on him. "You're not going anywhere, Salvatore."

He let out a humorless laugh. "Whatever you say, Gilbert."

"No. You are _not_ going." She gave him a rough shove, but since he was already leaning against the car it didn't accomplish much. "Damon Salvatore, you are _not_ leaving me. Not now, not after all this."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well I have to say, you're really good at playing dumb. But we both know what I'm talking about and you are _not leaving like this. _You're not leaving, period! You can't just walk out of my life. Unless you're some sort of coward who can't look a girl in the eye the morning after."

Anger flared in Damon's eyes. "I'm not a damn coward. And I remember, quite clearly, looking into your eyes this morning." He watched her flush, though he wasn't quite sure whether it was anger or embarrassment flooding her cheeks. Decided he didn't care. "I'm sick to death of this place. I need to get the hell out. I need to get away."

"From what?" she demanded. "From me?"

"Yes!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "From you, Elena! I'm done with this bullshit! I can't deal with it anymore, I can't deal with _you_ anymore!"

"_You _can't deal with _me_?" She was crying now and felt a distant sort of surprise that the moisture didn't burn on her flaming skin. "Everything you've touched in my life is in _pieces _Damon. And just so you know? Last night was the worst mistake of my life. You're the worst mistake of my life."

"Then it's a good thing I'm leaving," he answered evenly.

"Running, more like," she shot back.

"Why do you even care, Elena?" She was making this more difficult than it already was, and suddenly he was furious with her. He was doing what needed to be done. She didn't want him, that was clear. She should be thanking him for attempting a graceful exit.

She was silent for a moment, studying him through fierce eyes. "You're right. Because you obviously don't. Was it fun, Damon? Finally getting to screw your brother's girl?"

He gritted his teeth, and his eyes were cool. His lips curved into a cruel smile.

"Not as much fun as I'd hoped, but hey, you've only slept with what, one, two other guys? I'm sure you'll get better."

As if of its own volition, Elena's arm was swinging back, gaining momentum as she reversed directions and slapped him across the face. The sound of her palm cracking against Damon's cheek rang out, loud and stinging and incredibly satisfying.

She didn't have long to enjoy that satisfaction. The breath left her lungs as Damon grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around and slamming her back against the car hard enough to make her teeth rattle. Her eyes blazed with heat; his were ice cold.

"I've let you get away with that twice now, Elena. I think I've told you not to try it again." His voice was pure steel.

She tried to squirm out of his grip; his hands only tightened, squeezing with brutal force, undoubtedly bruising her bare shoulders.

"You're hurting me," she told him, just as she had in her dream - but in the dream, she'd spoken in a voice tinged with fear. Now it was jagged as razor wire and just as cutting. Still, she fought his grasp, was almost grateful for the opportunity to rage at him not just verbally, but physically as well. Not that she was doing much good. "Stop it, you jackass! Let _go_!"

He snarled, shaking her. His voice was a low growl when he spoke. "Maybe I like hurting you, Elena. God knows it's about goddamn time i was the one inflicting some pain!"

"What's that supposed to mean? Damn it Damon, let _go_ of me! You're nothing but a bully, Mr. Big Bad Mean Vampire who thinks he can push people around, who just takes whatever he wants and then walks away without a care in the world! You've never cared about _anything! _It's all 'want, take, have' with you, and I'm sick of it! I'm sick and tired of you! You walk around acting like some hot stud, like some guy girls should fight over, but you're not - you're nothing, you're empty, you're _pathetic! _You spend a whole _year _going after your brother's girlfriend, and after she's stupid enough to actually fall for it you _walk away_? I can't believe you two are related. I can't believe I thought I should figure this out, I can't believe I thought there _was _something to figure out! I thought I just might have feelings for you," she continued, on a roll, but he cut into her tirade.

"Do you?" His eyes weren't cold anymore. Instead, they were entirely without emotion.

And Elena laughed. "I was just getting you out of my system, Damon. I should've done it a long time ago. And you know what?" God, she wanted to hurt him, wanted to shatter his grip, wanted to shatter his heart. "Now that I've had a taste of both Salvatores, I know that I was right all along. You're _nothing _compared to Stefan. He's a _man. _You're nothing but a monster. How is it possible that you're even _related_? You don't deserve the Salvatore name. You don't deserve having Stefan as a brother and you sure as hell don't - "

She would've kept going, but her air supply was abruptly cut off as Damon's long, deadly fingers wrapped around her throat, choking her. His eyes weren't cold anymore. They were blazing hot. And red. All he could see was red, all he could think was that he had to _shut her the hell up_, to stop her from speaking aloud his darkest thoughts.

Her blood pounded, the pulse in her throat hammering against his fingers. He squeezed, eyes riveted on that pulse point as it increased speed. Humans were so very fragile. So very vulnerable. So very delicious.

His fangs descended. Her blood called out to him, a siren's song that drowned out everything else. This girl he'd spent so much time wallowing over? She was nothing. She was just a body, just a human. Just prey.

Elena's nails clawed at his hands in an effort to free herself. Her own anger was rapidly being replaced by fear. Her lungs burned, her vision dimmed. He was going to kill her. His bloodshot eyes, the black veins creeping dark across his face, his bared teeth - this was impulsive Damon, reckless Damon, the one who'd snapped Jeremy's neck in a heartbeat. He wasn't looking at her through the eyes of a man. And he was going to kill her.

She was about to die at the hands of the person she loved, the person she hated, the person she needed more than the air she couldn't breathe. A distant part of her knew it wasn't him, not the man she'd spent her night with, cutting off her very life force. A distant part of her pitied him, knowing that when the bloodlust cooled he'd regret this. She could lay claim to that distinction, at least. A human for whose death Damon actually felt remorse.

A traitorous voice was whispering in her head, telling her that if she was going to die, at least the last thing she'd see was Damon. _Beautiful, beautiful Damon,_ the voice murmured._ Beautiful, terrible Damon._

It was her last conscious thought before the world went black.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I warned you! And to the guest reviewer who asked "really? as if damon self hate is the road to take?" it may not be the road he SHOULD take, but it's quite often the one he does, particularly when it comes to Elena.

By the way, just so you all know, this story, as the title may suggest, was inspired by a promo before the s3 episode Heart of Darkness - in which Elena says "Stefan thinks you have feelings for me," and Damon responds "Do you?" I imagine you figured this out yourselves given the Colorado trip and all, but I just thought I'd clarify.


	12. Chapter 12: Popsicles and U-Turns

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I felt bad leaving you guys with that cliffhanger, which isn't to say this one cuts off at a better point, but it's at least better than Damon strangling Elena. So here you go, a second chapter posted like an hour after the last one. I hope you all leave reviews or decide to follow, but most importantly, I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

When Elena came to, the first thing she saw in the mercifully dim light were the mahogany blades of an overhead fan lazily spinning in the center of the ivory-toned ceiling. And she smelled, instantly, the soft hint of crisp, clean Old Spice deodorant, a scent that always lingered in this almost uncomfortably familiar room.

She was in Stefan's room.

She was in Stefan's bed.

And that fact alone made her feel a sharp pang of grief, of guilt, not only because this bed was no longer hers to share, but because she didn't want to share it. She didn't want to be in it, period. Being there, even though she lay fully-clothed atop the bedspread, felt like a betrayal to Damon.

Damon...

Now she sat bolt upright, her hand immediately flying to her throat.

That bastard had _strangled_ her.

Which didn't explain the fact that her sudden movement caused her head to swim dizzily. Now her hand moved over her scalp in search of the source of her pain. She quickly found it - a sizable knot at the back of her skull that was violently sensitive to her touch. She hissed out a breath, which alerted her to even more stinging pain, singeing her abused throat. She tentatively swallowed and the hurt was so intense tears filled her eyes. It felt like she'd taken a gulp liquid fire.

She knew instinctively that the knot hadn't been caused by Damon - directly, anyway. She remembered the instant before his grip on her throat sent her tumbling into the darkness - remembered his wild eyes, remembered them taking on that violent red hue, remembered his lips peeling back into a snarl, flashing wicked, wicked fangs.

And she remembered the moment those eyes had cleared, his face shifting back to the one she loved so goddamn much. Remembered the staggered expression he'd worn when his gaze whipped to his wonderful hands, his deadly hands, and realized what he'd been doing. He'd been so stunned by his own actions that his reflexes, normally lightning fast, failed him. She dimly recalled an instant of violent pain accompanied by the sound of breaking glass as her legs gave out and unconsciousness claimed her.

"Hey, you."

Elena's fixed gaze jerked upward in a jarring movement that had her stomach lurching dangerously. Her vision swam, and she wondered if she was going to pass out again. Instead, the roiling in her stomach increased nastily. She lifted a hand to her mouth, and met his eyes, his tender, loving eyes. She didn't need to speak (thankfully); he immediately understood, and a waste basket was shoved into her lap seconds before she vomited.

Taking a breath was nothing, _nothing _compared to the pain she felt as the bile rose in her bruised throat, and the moment she'd emptied her stomach the basket was replaced by a cup of chipped ice.

She tried to ask for water, but the blurred face hovering over her moved from side to side as her request was denied. "Just suck the ice, Elena. It'll be easier on your throat, i promise." When she simply stared down at the cup, a hand crossed into her line of sight, picking up a piece of ice and sliding it gently between her lips.

She was hand fed several more chips of ice before finally finding her voice and managing a strained "thank you."

"Of course, sweetheart. Don't talk anymore, okay? Just be still, close your eyes. I can't let you fall asleep though. You've been out too long already and you might have a concussion - you probably do, since you're sick, too." Slender, elegant fingers crept toward the back of her head, whispering over the throbbing bump, making her gasp involuntarily. He withdrew his fingers so quickly she would've thought she'd imagined his touch - if it hadn't hurt so goddamn much.

"Shit - shit, I'm sorry. We need to ice that, too. Don't go anywhere." A teasing smile accompanied the words, but she couldn't make herself return it.

He was back at her side in an instant, offering her a ziplock bag filled with ice. She looked at it as blankly as she'd studied the cup he'd given her, so he took it upon himself to press the ice to her head. She flinched, but he didn't draw away this time, simply made soothing sounds and looking at her worriedly. In his other hand he held something resembling a green tube. A Freezer Pop, she realized. He'd gotten her a Freezer Pop to ease the fire in her throat - and a green one, too. Her mouth curved into a little smile. She wasn't sure if the green was coincidence or if he'd chosen it specifically. Did he know it was her favorite flavor?

She took the popsicle from his hand and brought it to her lips, tentatively tasting and swallowing the flavored ice. It burned and soothed all at once, but the latter gradually took over and she abandoned all hesitation, greedily sucking down the rapidly melting ice. Within minutes she was tipping her head back - and God, that hurt like hell - to squeeze the last drops from the plastic tube.

Now she swallowed slowly, eyes closed, basking in the cool sensation before opening her eyes again.

"Is there - another?" The words came out as a barely intelligible croak, but he gave a little laugh, understanding her question.

"One sec."

During his brief absence she sucked another piece of ice; it wasn't as satisfying as the Freezer Pop, but it was better than nothing. When he came back into the room he had two more in his hand, making her smile. Apparently he did know her favor flavor - the popsicles were both green. He used his teeth to tear the plastic open, then passed it to her.

She took her time with the second popsicle, closing her eyes again. Between the vicious aching of her head and the somehow exhausting process of soothing her throat, she started to drift off.

"Nuh uh." She was given a little shake, forced back into consciousness. "No sleeping."

She looked up with an expression so baleful, so pathetic, that he had to laugh. and then his eyes dipped to her slender neck, ringed with bruises, and his gaze darkened with barely restrained fury. He'd managed to quell his anger in his desperation to make sure she was okay, but now it flooded his veins.

He took her limp hand, bringing it to the ice pack he still held against her head. "Don't move it," he commanded in a clipped tone. Confused by his abrupt shift in attitude from tenderness to temper, she complied, frowning up at him.

He paced like a caged animal, swiping a hand through his hair before pausing to stand beside the bed. His expression was inscrutable when he finally broke the tense silence.

"I'm not gonna rush you, but when you can talk, I'm gonna need you to tell me what the _fuck _happened to you. okay, Elena?"

Her voice was soft, the words scouring her throat like sandpaper, but she forced herself to speak.

"Okay, Stefan."

Damon was doing 78mph on the infamous Route 66, dreaming vaguely of the Pacific Ocean and hot girls in barely-there bikinis. He envisioned curvy girls, skinny girls, busty girls, flat-chested girls, girls with pale skin, girls with dark skin, girls with endless legs, girls with petite frames. After all, he'd had plenty of time to develop a strong appreciation for every variation of the female form.

But damn it, they all had _her_ face.

And they all had bruises forming necklaces around their throats.

His gut clenched and his eyes flicked down to the screen of his cell phone, daring it to ring, begging it to ring. He knew Elena was okay; there was no way in hell he'd have left if there was any doubt in his mind that she was still in danger. She'd still been unconscious when he'd all but shoved her into Stefan's arms, but her chest rose and fell with each labored breath. But she _had_ been breathing.

Stefan hadn't asked a single question when Damon showed up in the salvatore living room cradling her limp body. His eyes were all for Elena. Damon placed her in Stefan's arms, knowing she was where she needed to be. Where she wanted to be. She'd been right in saying he didn't deserve the name salvatore. He sure as hell wasn't a savior. but Stefan was; Stefan would take care of her.

Damon's steadfast policy of trusting no one but himself had crumbled over the past year. It had been a defense mechanism - don't let anyone get too close, don't start to _feel, _fuck obligations and long-term relationships. Nothing had mattered except Katherine. She was the one who brought him back to Mystic. Faith in her love for him kept him going. The blind belief that he could find her, bring her back to him - it was the only thing he was truly invested in. He'd had plenty of women, even a handful of friends, but none of them really mattered. All that mattered was finding his soulmate.

And he had. It just hadn't been Katherine.

Still, he'd been wary of trusting Elena - or anyone else. Look out for number one and all that. But it hadn't taken long for his resolve to fade, for him to let her in. And before he knew it, he was developing relationships left right and center, with Caroline, with Jenna, even with Jeremy, the poster child for teenage angst. You couldn't call them friendships, really. His only true friend was ric. But relationships, yes. These men and women weren't just extras populating the stage that was his life. They were people, and they mattered.

He'd spent multiple lifetimes protecting himself from the world by keeping everyone at arm's length. Now his lip curled at the irony of it all. Turned out, he should've been protecting the world from himself.

Protecting Elena. It always came down to protecting Elena.

And now he'd harmed her. Nearly killed her. Loving someone so much that passion overruled everything else was dangerous. He couldn't risk hurting her again. So he'd given her to the one person he knew would go to the ends of the earth in order to keep her safe, and he'd fled.

It was a roadside sign outside a little gas station that stopped him from leaving town right away. it was only one word, painted in huge letters. "ICE."

She'd need ice. Her throat would beg for it. Feeling a little insane, he'd bucked a violent u-turn, steered into the parking lot, and jumped out of the car. It was all he could give her now. The only way he could even begin to apologize. Bags and bags and bags of ice.

Rational thought returned when he entered the little store adjacent to the gas pumps. He was being crazy. They had a whole fucking freezer in the basement full to the brim with ice. What the hell was he doing? Spinning on his heel he'd headed straight for the door, only to be distracted by a box of freezer pops.

He remembered Elena's addiction to the popsicles - she'd sucked them down all summer, and fuck if it wasn't unbelievably sexy to watch. Ignoring the protests of the man behind the counter he dug into the top box in the stack, then the one under it, then the one under that, systematically digging through them. He'd gone on to discard all the red pops, the orange, the purple, the blue. Then he'd taken the remaining pile of green popsicles, he'd shoved them into one of the now-empty boxes, and walked out.

He'd gone home but hadn't ventured past the doorstep. Instead, he dropped the box of popsicles in front of the door, held the doorbell down for ten solid seconds, returned to his car - he'd left it idling with the key in the ignition - then shot out of the driveway.

The popsicles were a shit peace offering, but he'd already done the only other thing he could think of: get the hell out of dodge. Get the hell out of Elena's life.

He looked at his cell again, wondering if anger and shame had possibly rendered him deaf to the world and he'd somehow missed the sound of the phone ringing. No such luck. Which meant Elena hadn't talked to Stefan yet. God knew if his little brother was aware of what transpired between Damon and Elena he'd have picked up the phone immediately and called Damon in a rage.

And if Elena hadn't told Stefan yet... oh, Jesus. Maybe she hadn't told Stefan because she_ couldn't _tell Stefan. Maybe she hadn't woken up. Maybe she never would.

Damon's blood ran cold as he made another insanely illegal u-turn, tires screeching as he swung the car around and headed right back to square one.


	13. Chapter 13: Personal

"How the hell did Kol find you?" Stefan demanded, then lowered his voice apologetically when Elena cringed. Every sound was amplified by the pain in her head. "Sorry, sorry. But i don't get it. What happened?"

Elena was trying to think fast, which was no easy task given her throbbing headache. She wondered if she'd gotten a concussion; her head was heavy as a bowling ball. And not one of the cute bright pink ones girls used, but the 15-pounders with huge fingers holes designed for big burly men with big burly hands.

"Klaus was covering his bases," she said softly, her voice hoarse. "Kol has been in Colorado this whole time with Jeremy." That much was true. "He beat us to that vampire woman..."

"Scary Mary?"

"Yeah," she murmured, frowning in her attempt to weave fact and fiction. "Damon and I managed to give him the slip though - Kol, I mean. We had to get out of there, keep Jeremy safe. but I guess he followed us back. We were..." Where, where, where? "At a gas station. Damon was filling up, I went inside to pay, and uh, Kol took me by surprise. Waited until Damon and I were separated to go for me."

"Athen he strangled you? Why would Kol hurt you? I thought protecting you was Klaus' number one priority."

Shit. "I don't know, Stefan. It's all kind of blurry." That much was hardly a lie. "It all happened really fast. Maybe the plan was to take me or something? So he just needed to... immobilize me and get me in the car. Stefan, my throat is killing." Another convenient truth. "Could i have another popsicle thing?"

Yes, her throat was killing, but really she just needed time to think. She was fairly certain her story made sense, as much as anything made sense right then. Which, she thought wryly, wasn't saying much.

Stefan smiled at her and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "Sorry. you scared me, Elena. I can't stand seeing you hurt."

"I'm not a huge fan of seeing me hurt either," she answered, forcing a smile in return.

Stefan leaned over her and pressed a kiss to Elena's forehead.

"I'm so glad Damon was there to protect you," he whispered, then rose and headed for the door. He paused in the doorway, glanced back at her and sent her a loving look. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

_You don't _have _me_, she thought bitterly._ Not anymore. You left. Damon stayed. And I had to go and fall in love with him. Brilliant work, Gilbert. God, I should just take a vow of abstinence, join a nunnery. _

She scowled, muttered darkly to herself. "Maybe I can just turn lesbian or something."

"Now that sounds like a fun idea."

Her head jerked up - _ouch _- and her gaze met a pair of amused blue eyes and smirking lips. Damon's eyes, Damon's lips. And damn it, the sight of them, of him, made her heart stutter. He was so perfectly, unbelievably, _infuriatingly_ handsome, standing there propped against the doorframe, arms crossed, the picture of arrogance. Yeah, he was painfully beautiful. And damn if he didn't know it.

"Stefan told me you were gone." Her voice was quiet, and he could hear the pain in it. The pain he'd caused. Nothing new there, he thought, that familiar feeling of self-loathing wreaking havoc on his gut. And now that he knew she was okay, he'd twist the knife a little more and walk away. It was for the best. He'd rather leave her angry than sad.

He gave a casual shrug. "And now I'm back."

"Why?"

"I've got a vintage bottle of Glenfiddich somewhere around here. I've been carrying it around for seventeen years - it's damn good scotch. Didn't want to leave it behind."

She studied him through beautiful, tired eyes. "Is that all?"

"What else would there be?"

She closed her eyes again, needing to hide the pain in them. An answer slipped out of her mouth practically of its own accord.

"Me."

She didn't see Damon's jaw drop, but it did. He crossed the room, dropped to his knees in front of her and cupped her chin with his hand. His heart was racing, that traitorous blossom - more like a stubborn weed - unfurling in his breast. Hope. Lovely, lethal hope.

"What do you mean, Elena?"

She didn't open her eyes but raised and dropped her shoulders in a shrug of her own. She simply couldn't invite more hurt.

"Talk to me," he whispered. "Talk to me, Elena."

"I can't," she said, looking at him again before looking away. "You strangled me, remember? it hurts too much to talk."

She wanted to piss him off so he'd give up, walk away. The same way he'd planned on pissing _her _off and walking away.

He wasn't going to.

Still holding her chin firmly in place, Damon raised his other hand, dragged his wrist to his mouth and tore the skin. Blood swelled from the fresh wound.

Now Elena looked at him again, eyes widening in momentary alarm before her jaw set in a hard line and tried to provoke him further.

"Gonna force-feed me blood again?"

"Only if you want me to," he answered calmly. "I hurt you. Now I want to fix that. I can see the headache in your eyes, Elena. I can make you feel better, if you let me."

She lifted a brow at him. Gave it one more shot. "Since when do you ask permission?"

"Since now."

Stefan had offered to heal her the same way. She'd refused, partly because she wanted to stall for time before having to tell Stefan what had happened. But that wasn't the only reason. There was something intensely sexual and intimate about tasting someone's blood. Blood sharing seemed so very... _personal_. She couldn't do something intimate or sexual with Stefan, not after everything that had gone on between her and Damon. It wasn't right.

"I'm healing pretty quick here," Damon murmured, cutting into her thoughts. "Let me help you. Please. Let me help you, Elena."

She couldn't break his gaze and remained focused entirely on him as she reached for Damon's arm and lifted his wrist to her lips. Tasted him. Felt the essence of his being fill her mouth and pump strength into her body. The world fell away. There was nothing left except Damon. Nothing mattered except Damon.

"I guess you don't need this anymore."

Damon and Elena's heads turned in sync at the sound of Stefan's voice. They both saw the same thing: the sight of his retreating back.

And two more freezer pops, lying lonely and half-melted on the floor.


	14. Chapter 14: What Now?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There were some concerns about the violent turn Damon took in the last chapter (maybe the one before that) and I've tried to address those concerns in their conversation. I hope I did a decent job. Enjoy, and please keep the reviews and follows and all that coming, it's so awesome to know you're all reading my stuff, seriously. So thank you bunches :)

* * *

Damon clamped a firm hand on Elena's knee to prevent her from bolting in Stefan's wake.

"Damon, I can't just -"

"Let him go, Elena."

"But - I can't do that, I need to see if -"

"Let him _go_."

She looked at him, big brown eyes bright with unshed tears. "He needs me."

"He needs time. He needs space. Trust me, Elena." He squeezed her knee gently, met her gaze with his. "Trust me. He needs this."

"But... oh, God, what am I doing?" Feeling utterly defeated, Elena dropped her head in her hands. "What am I going to _do_?"

"I wish I could answer that for you," Damon murmured, stroking a hand along the crown of her head and down her back. "He needs some space now, but he'll be back." The Salvatores always came back for Elena Gilbert. "He loves you, Elena. Tell him you love him, and he'll forgive this - whatever this is - he'll be over it in an instant. Tell him you pick him." It took a whole lot of willpower, but Damon managed to censor the bitterness from his tone. "Tell him you pick him, and you guys can live happily ever after."

Now Elena jerked away and stood, suddenly incredibly grateful to the vampire blood coursing through her veins. She needed that strength right now as everything spiraled out of control.

"You've got to be kidding me Damon. I spent the last two nights with you, really _with_ you, and you're going to tell me I picked Stefan?" She wanted to break something. Possibly Damon's face.

"Oh, come on Elena. I'm not an idiot. I know why you chose me as your road trip buddy. you wanted to test the waters, see what it'd be like to be with the bad Salvatore. Don't humor me and act like it was more than that." Jesus, he was handing her an out. All she had to do was nod, agree with him, and she could walk away. No strings - no chains. No guilt.

Except the girl never let herself off the hook. She was an expert at self-flagellation, practically thrived on it even as her misplaced guilt threatened to suffocate her. Maybe she thought her feelings for him went deeper than they did; she was the kind of girl who didn't do meaningless sex. Which only made it worse - she'd attach meaning to something because her moral compass would dictate it. No one night stands for Elena. So here she was, trying to tell herself it was more.

Elena could literally feel her blood pressure rising. When she spoke she kept her voice even and mild, but anger lit a fire in her eyes.

"Do _not_ presume to tell me how I feel, Damon. God, you're one to talk. How can you look me in the eye and play the victim here? How can you act like I'm the one who used you when you literally screwed me and walked away? You're the one who chose to spend the night with me and then act like nothing happened in the morning. You're the one who made me feel like a game, like a conquest. You came, you saw, you conquered. Well congratulations. You did it. You slept with your brother's ex girlfriend, bravo. You win."

somewhere in the middle of Elena's speech Damon's jaw clenched - in an effort to keep it from dropping open. "I did _not_ use you," he said finally. "How could you think that? For even a second? I've wanted you for a year, Elena. And out of those 365 days of wanting you, I've loved you for, oh, 360? You're crazy not to see that. Not to _know_ that."

"Aren't you a charmer," Elena responded in a venomous tone. "First you tell me how I feel, then you tell me I'm crazy? God, Damon, you have no idea what's going through my head. And the only reason I'm not slapping you right now is because last time I did that, you _strangled me_."

He winced. "Yeah... did I mention I'm sorry about that?" He looked a little ill and was desperately glad the bruising around her throat was all but gone.

Exasperated, infuriated, Elena paced the room in an effort to burn off her anger. "Oh, well then everything is just _fine_. It's not at all a big deal that you almost killed me if you're enough of a gentleman to feel _bad_ about it."

"The key word in there was 'almost,'" he pointed out, his tone walking the fine line between hopeful contrition and the slightest shade of amusement.

Elena whirled around and jabbed her finger in his direction. "You always do this, Damon. Every time I think that maybe, just maybe, we stand a chance - you always manage to screw it up. It's what you do! you sabotage things. Every time there's a bump in the road you lash out."

He was quiet for a moment as he studied her. "What if there was no bump?"

"Ha." Elena let out a huff of breath. "That'll be the day."

He ignored that. "Okay, Elena, you say you don't want _me_ to tell _you_ how you feel. So maybe _you_ should tell _me_."

"You want to know how I feel right now? Let's go with, incredibly pissed off."

Damon arched an eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed. Well how about I tell you how _I_ feel." He rose from his seat on the coffee table and took a step toward her. The intensity of his expression was unnerving. "I feel _confused. _I feel _convenient_. I feel like a fucking science experiment."

Elena opened her mouth to respond; Damon pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "You can deny it all you want. We both know the purpose of this whole trip was for you to blow off some steam. To take some time away from all your Stefan drama and indulge your hormones. You needed space to figure out what it is you want from my brother, and in the meantime you thought i'd make a good distraction. A vacation from reality. What happens in Colorado stays in Colorado."

Now he skimmed his thumb along her bottom lip, felt her shudder of response but got little pleasure from it. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, still watching her closely.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Elena. Tell me this was something more. Because from where I'm standing, things are really goddamn blurry. One minute you're looking at me through those beautiful eyes of yours, and I can see it - I can see how you want me, even if you don't want to want me. The next minute all I see is disdain. One minute you're using those clever hands of yours to explore every inch of me, the next you're using them to slap me." His voice became low, husky, sexy. "One minute you're under me, moaning my name. The next, you're beside me and whispering Stefan's. So go ahead, Elena. Try and tell me these past few days really meant something to you. Explain to me how you can fall asleep with your body wrapped around me like a fucking ribbon and dream of my brother."

Elena drew a ragged breath and tried to focus on Damon's words and not the images they inspired. "I don't know what you're talking about, Damon."

His laugh was entirely devoid of humor. "Two nights, Elena. Two nights in a row you said his name in your sleep. Two nights ago,_ I_ pulled you out of your nightmare and you thanked _him_ for saving you. Last night _I _pulled out of your sexy, sated little body... and then you fell asleep with _his_ name on your lips. You can act like you want me - like you care about me, like this all meant something to you and I wasn't just some fun diversion. Just know your subconscious is telling a completely different story."

Elena was puzzling over Damon's words, her forehead creased with a frown. "Two nights ago... when I dreamt about the car crash. I said Stefan's name?"

"Your exact words were 'you saved me, Stefan.'"

"And last night? What did I say then?"

"Just his name. Look, you've obviously made your choice, Elena. So when my brother comes back, you can tell him. Tell him you love him, and you want him forever and ever." Damon's tone was mocking. "And when you're done with that, tell him I said goodbye."

"Excuse me? Where the hell are you going?"

"I only came back to make sure you were okay. Since you're obviously feeling fine it's time for me to leave." Damon turned for the door and Elena grabbed his arm.

"Don't you dare, Damon. Don't you dare leave. You have no right to make me feel the way I do and then walk away from me."

Slowly, deliberately, Damon removed Elena's fingers from his shirt sleeve one by one. "I have every right. At this point it's self preservation, Elena." Suddenly he looked exhausted, his anger depleted and replaced by a sad sort of resignation. "I can't stay here. I want you to be happy, Elena, more than anything in the world I want you to be happy. And safe. Stefan can make sure you're both of those things. I'm not sure I can say the same for me. I'm sorry, really. But I can't keep watching and wanting and waiting for something that will never come. Those things you said earlier, about me not being worthy of the name Salvatore? About Stefan being the man, and me being the monster? Yeah, it hurt to hear those things. and I think it hurt because all those things you said? They're all true."

"I was deliberately provoking you, Damon."

He gave her a small smile. "Well, mission accomplished. The way I feel about you, Elena? It's incendiary. It's a pool of kerosene just waiting for a spark of flame. You make me insane, and you make me dangerous. I can't control myself around you. So I have to walk away."

"You're right, you know."

Damon's gut clenched in pain, but he only nodded.

"No - not that stupid speech you just gave me. You were right when you said the key word is 'almost.' I said you _almost_ killed me. The Damon I used to know would've finished the job. The Damon I used to know would've just snapped my neck and walked away. I can't believe I'm forgiving this so easily, but damn it Damon, you'd hurt me. You'd hurt my feelings. I felt like our time together meant nothing to you. And it meant - it _means._.. it means so much more than I want it to. So much more than I'm comfortable with. Having these feelings for you... believe me, it's not a choice my brain is making. I'm not a total masochist. I don't enjoy inflicting pain on myself. But I can't turn it off anymore. I've spent so long trying. Even before Stefan left I felt something." She let out a dry chuckle. "Sometimes I think life would've been so much easier if he'd never come back. I almost sympathize with Katherine. lovin - " she wanted to bite her tongue and hurried on. "_Caring_ for either Salvatore brother is hard enough. But both? It's too much. And just when I think I've figured things out you throw up a roadblock the size of Mount freaking Everest."

She dropped into an armchair and put her head in her hands, letting out a long sigh before continuing. "I was going to let it go, you know. Your weird, distant behavior the whole drive home - I wasn't gonna make an issue of it. I thought maybe, maybe it had to do with Jeremy being around. That when it was just you and I again we could actually talk, even if it meant me finding out that all my suspicions were true, that I was just a game to you.

"But then you told me you were leaving. Just up and leaving Mystic, leaving _me_, after you'd taken everything from me. No, after _I gave_ everything to you. And you just made me so mad. So I said all those things to you. I know it was completely juvenile, but damn it you _hurt_ me. So I wanted to hurt you back."

"And how'd that go for you Elena? Hmm? How did your little temper tantrum play out between the two of us? Because I'm pretty sure it ended with my fingers around your - " his voice caught, and he found himself struggling to go on. "Why would you ever want me, Elena? How could you ever _trust _me?"

He dropped down onto Stefan's bed, feeling defeated, then abruptly rose.

"Can we go somewhere else? It's weird, talking about this, here."

"Your room?"

"Anywhere else," he murmured, his eyes lingering on her face.

She rose and reached out a hand. After a moment, Damon took it, holding hers with aching gentleness as though he was afraid to break her. She gave his hand a sharp, firm squeeze, leading him down the hall to his room. The moment he entered, Damon went for the decanter of bourbon on his dresser, pouring himself a healthy three fingers. He arched a brow at Elena; she shook her head, heady enough on the rush of his blood without the extra kick of alcohol.

"You were asking me how I can trust you again," she prompted, leaning against the bedframe and watching him carefully. "Maybe I can't. Maybe I'm one of those poor girls who lets her boyfriend beat her and winds up telling the cops she fell down the stairs. What do you think, Damon? Do I fit the profile?"

"Hell no," he muttered, almost wishing she did. A meek version of Elena would be infinitely easier to handle. But no - he didn't want her any other way. He loved the whole of her, myriad flaws and talents alike.

"Tell me, Damon." He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, looking utterly beaten. "Is it ever going to happen again?"

He threw his hands in the air, getting up and pacing the room, his usually lithe, graceful movements jerky and jittery. "How can I _know_? I never thought I'd hurt you, Elena." His voice was full of anguish, his eyes heartbreakingly sad. "I just - they weren't my hands anymore. Not that that's any excuse, there's absolutely no excuse for it. But God, everything faded away except these words I couldn't bear to hear. All the things I think about myself coming out of your lips - all the terrible, twisted, hopeless things. I just had to make it stop. You're never gonna stop pissing me off, Elena."

She sent him a look, and he managed the ghost of a smile.

"You're difficult - infuriating even. You've always gotta go your own way and won't let anyone else get hurt if you can serve yourself up instead. Trying to keep you safe is a major challenge. And that's keeping you safe from all the other shit - curses and Katherines and Klauses and all that. If I can't protect you from them, how can I possibly protect you from me?"

"You didn't answer the question, Damon. It's simple: yes, or no? Will you hurt me again?"

"Probably," he said, looking down.

"Physically," she clarified. "Will you hurt me again, physically?"

He dragged his eyes up to meet hers, looking lost and impossibly young, like a boy stripped of all his defenses, confused and vulnerable and hurting. "I want to say no. I want to say it'd never happen, Elena. But how can I say that when it did? God, why would you want me after this? Are you sure you didn't get brain damage when you fell?"

"If I had, your blood would've healed it by now. Look, Damon... You've made mistakes. A lot of them. I mean, a _lot_."

"Not making me feel better," he muttered.

"Not trying to." She crossed the room to sit back on the bed, watching him as he resumed his agitated pacing. "The thing is, you learn from them. You tell yourself you don't care, that you don't feel remorse for the things you've done. The man in front of me - the _man _- is crumbling because he hurt someone."

"Not someone," he murmured, finishing his drink and going for a refill. "You, Elena."

"It's killing you. What you did."

"Understatement."

"But you don't think you've learned from it. You think you'll let yourself do something like this again, knowing how much it hurt me and how much it still hurts you."

"Not intentionally! But damn it, I make stupid decisions all the time. I'm reckless and impulsive and yeah, self-sabotaging. You don't need that in your life."

"You're wrong, Damon. I do. I do need you. Part of me is so unbelievably angry with you for losing it like that. And another part of me knows the anger I feel towards you, towards what happened? It doesn't hold a candle to the beating you're giving yourself. You're guilty of a lot of things, Damon, but I don't think masochism is one of them. If hurting me just ends up hurting you - hurting you even more than it hurts me - do you think you'll do it again?"

"Jesus, I don't give a flying fuck if I hurt myself. It's you I can't bear to..." He looked down at his hands, saw with a distant sort of surprise that they shook. "I love you. You know that, right?"

She gazed straight into his eyes and nodded.

"Because I love you, I can't let myself be with you. I can't make you vulnerable to me, not knowing what I'm capable of. When you really love someone, and you know you'd just be toxic to their life... you cut and run. Because at the end of the day, that's the right thing to do. That's what a man truly in love with a woman, that's what he'd do."

She studied him for a long moment, then shook her head. "Why don't you let anyone see the good in you, Damon?"

"One: because there's not much, and you'd need a fucking microscope to see it in the first place. Two, because when people see good, they expect good, Elena. Today is a perfect example of why showing people there's any good inside me would ultimately set them up to be disappointed. Because it's pretty obvious that that microscopic speck of 'good' isn't actually there. Not if I can hurt the one person, the one thing in my life, that really truly matters."

"You hurt Stefan all the time," she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

His mouth curved the slightest bit, but he accompanied the action with a little shake of his head. "I can't be trusted, Elena. If I can't be trusted with you, I can't be trusted, period."

He looked so damn broken, and she wanted desperately to fix him. But that wasn't what he needed.

"Listen to me, Damon. The more you complain about this, the more you're turning yourself into a victim. You're _not _the victim here. I am. I'm the one who was hurt. I'm the one who was wronged."

"You think I don't _know _that?!" The agony in his voice was almost palpable. But Elena silenced him with a glare.

"Stop it, okay? Stop this little pity party where you beat yourself up and put me in a position where I end up comforting _you_. That's not how this goes. You don't get to do that."

Now she stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of him. She lifted her hands, cupping his face and tilting his head down, her gaze locked on his.

"You did something seriously, seriously wrong. Maybe I shouldn't forgive you. Maybe I'm stupid to do that. But I've made stupid decisions before. I'm a teenager - I'm supposed to. But damn it, Damon..." She grabbed his hand, then pressed his palm to her chest and held it there. "Feel that? Can you feel my heart racing? That's what you do to me. I've fallen so damn hard for you that I can barely breathe. And it's selfish of me, but I don't want to let that go. I did everything I could to push you over the edge. I triggered the vampire part of you because I needed a reaction, any reaction other than that cool indifference. I sure as hell got one."

His eyes were wet with tears. One spilled over, and she delicately used her thumb to brush it away.

"Here's the point: I have faith in you. So much. You should have some faith in you, too. I don't want hear anymore of this 'what have I done, I'm such a horrible person' crap. If I can deal, you can deal. And I _want _this, Damon. I want _you_. So badly." Her voice hitched and she rose to her toes, pressing a damp kiss to his mouth.

"You're right, about the victimizing thing. I'm sorry. You're the one who was hurt here, not me. And you shouldn't be comforting me. I did something completely, entirely, unbelievably wrong. If that's what you want, Elena - for me to deal with it and move on, if that's how you'd prefer things, then okay. I'm in no position to call the shots on this. Just, please know how fucking sorry I am for hurting you. And you know what?" He looked her right in the eye and gave her his first real smile since returning to the house. "I'll never do it again. I swear to you, Elena Gilbert. I can't promise I won't piss you off or even make you cry somewhere down the line - probably not all that far, either - but I'll never lift my hand to hurt you, not ever again."

A smile bloomed, pretty as a sunflower unfurling its bright face under a blue sky, and his heart tripped in his chest. God, she was beautiful.

"I believe you, Damon. I have absolute faith in you - I mentioned that, right? You're so much more than you want the world to see. So much more than you'll even let yourself see. But I can. I know who you are, and what you are. That's why... that's why I want _you_, Damon."

Oh how he wanted to believe it. He wanted her to belong to him - God knew he already belonged to her. But the sound of her voice whispering Stefan's name in her sleep echoed in Damon's brain.

"It's honestly insane to me that you could ever think, even for a moment, that you were a game to me. And I can't help it, Elena, doubting this, whatever this is. How could you possibly want a guy who you think is capable of playing with your heart like that? You're too smart for that shit." He swallowed back his next words, refraining from telling her that she only thought she had feelings for him because they'd shared such an intimate physical connection. It would probably earn him another slap, and while he felt shitty enough to invite one, he was done tossing words around like an inept juggler. She'd just be pissed if he told her he deserved it, because she was right - he'd simply be victimizing himself. Welcoming pain because he'd inflicted it and wanted to feel less guilty, less monstrous.

Instead, he spoke the simple truth. "I know I was an ass this morning. but Elena, put yourself in my place. Last night was the best of my entire life." His voice became ragged, choked with emotion. "And all I could think was, _finally_. You were finally mine.

"But you weren't. You still aren't. Don't you remember telling me it was always gonna be Stefan? I've been kidding myself for so long, trying to tell myself that maybe I have a chance - that you and I have a chance. That we could be together. But I was wrong. Because even when I was holding you, you were thinking of my brother. So I'm sorry for being such a dick today. No matter what you choose to believe, I swear to you that these past few days meant everything to me. Damn it, Elena, _you_ mean everything to me."

He took a long breath, dragged restless fingers through his hair.

"That's why I have to go. Because yeah, you mean everything to me. But it will never work the other way around. I'll never be your everything. Stefan will always, always be there. I should've accepted that the first time you said it. But for you, and for him, I'll accept it now.

Damon took the hand that had been raking through his own hair and tucked a stray tendril of Elena's behind her ear. The expression on his face was heartbreaking, his eyes twin pools of sadness reflecting his pain, his resignation that she'd never be his.

"I have to go, Elena. You'll work things out with Stefan and it'll all be okay. You were right when you said I'm a coward, that I'm not half the man my brother is. Maybe if I was I could stick around. But I'm just not strong enough to stay, to see you with him. Not after everything that happened between us. Not when I know... Not when I know what it's like." He paused to collect himself before adding, "It's too much. I can only take so much, Elena."

"I don't want you to take anything, Damon." Her voice was very quiet and very firm. "I want to _give_. God, I wish you'd confronted this earlier. It would've saved us a lot of trouble. I could've explained and we'd have avoided all this unnecessary crap."

"What's there to explain? I think the situation is pretty straightforward."

Elena shook her head and gave him a sardonic look. "Apparently it's not as straightforward as you thought. Come here," she murmured, tugging his hand and pulling him to sit beside her on the bed. "Just sit with me and let me explain. And after, if you're not satisfied, you can leave. Although i'd really prefer it if you didn't. If you leave me... I don't know if I could handle it, Damon. I need you here, I need you with me. You're my rock. You're the one person in my life who always puts me first, who always protects me no matter the cost. That's not why I care about you, although it's a great bonus - when it's not a pain in the ass. No, I care about you because you're a good man, a beautiful man. Your heart is so beautiful. And your soul. I..." she took a deep breath, knowing she had to look at him when she said the words. Even if they weren't quite the words he wanted to hear. "I - I'm falling hard, Damon. It wouldn't take much to push me over the edge into... into love. It's so much, you know? I don't know what to do with how I feel about you. It scares me more than anything I've ever faced. Because it's so _big_, Damon. I'm... I'm completely consumed by you. I've tried to shake it, to shrug it off and convince myself that it's just, well... lust, I guess."

He found it infinitely endearing that the admission made her blush. She saw the glimmer of laughter in his eyes and scowled.

"You're such an ass," she muttered.

"But an ass who you _lust _after," he answered, not bothering to disguise his grin. "I can live with that." The smile faded as thoughts of his brother returned. "What is it you want here, Elena? What is it you want from me?"

_Everything_, she thought.

"I... I don't know."

Damon's jaw clenched involuntarily. "In every other aspect of your life you're so fucking assertive it's frightening. You know what you want and you go for it. Why does this have to be so different?"

"Because I care too much! Because _you're_ too much! I never know which way you'll turn, what kind of stunt you're going to pull on some reckless impulse." She raised a hand to stop him from interrupting. "I'm not talking about today, Damon. We're done talking about that. But other things, things like - with Ric, and, God, I know you feel crappy enough about this as it is, but Jeremy, too. Do you know how unbelievably frightening that is? Having such strong feelings for someone so entirely unpredictable?"

"So Stefan is your safety net."

"Yes - no!" she threw her hands up in frustration. "I don't _know_!"

Damon shook his head slowly, maintaining eye contact all the while. "That's not good enough, Elena. Not anymore. Why did you even ask me to go on the trip with you, anyway? Why not Stefan?"

"Believe it or not, I didn't overanalyze it the way you are. Well, I did. But not until after I'd already asked you. I wanted to be with you, okay? Simple as that. I didn't think about repercussions or Stefan or any of it until later. I just... I wanted you."

Damon gritted his teeth. Her use of past tense was hardly encouraging.

"I still do," she whispered, as though she'd read his mind. "I don't _want_ to want you. But that doesn't seem to matter."

"Wow, don't flatter me with this confession of undying love," he answered, shooting her a look.

She managed a small smile in return. "I'm giving you total disclosure. I'm done lying about my feelings for you - lying to you, lying to myself. I just don't know what to do with those feelings."

"What about Stefan, Elena? What are you going to do with your feelings for him?"

"The two have nothing to do with each other."

Damon let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, okay then."

"I'm not joking, damn it. He left me. He just _left_, and then... God, I'll never know, really know, what would've happened that night on the bridge. If Klaus hadn't called his bluff and caved... would he have let me die? I want to think the answer is no. But part of me wonders. It was such a cold, calculating thing to do. Something I'd never have imagined Stefan being capable of. And yet..." she trailed off. "Whatever. You don't have to believe me; that's entirely your prerogative. But how I feel about Stefan isn't what's keeping me from being with you."

"How am I supposed to believe you when you talk about him in your sleep? I told you, Elena. Your mouth and your body, they can lie, but your subconscious can't."

"I said that about Stefan saving me because he did, Damon. That night. When my parents died. He's the reason I lived, okay? I didn't remember that until he told me. I blocked out those memories. It's apparently typical of trauma victims. Something your brain automatically does to protect you from remembering what happened. The doctor asked me how I got out of the car and I had absolutely zero memory of it. He said I may never remember, and I didn't for such a long time. But then Stefan came clean about it, and I guess it worked as a trigger.

"I remember..." she swallowed, and the pain she felt reflected in her eyes. "Dad made him save me first. Stefan tried to help dad first and he - my dad - he just shook his head and pointed back at me." Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "So Stefan got me out. It's still foggy. I think lack of oxygen made me pass out, so I don't remember him actually getting me out of the car. But I remember being there in the grass and Stefan pumping my lungs and I remember wanting him to just leave me alone, to just let me go back to sleep, to go back into the darkness... But he didn't, and he forced me to breathe until I was throwing up lake water. And I was so out of it. Probably shock or something. I looked at him and asked him who he was. He told me his first name, and I said the same thing that I did in my dream. 'You saved me, Stefan.'" The tears were falling now, but she wasn't aware of them. "I don't remember the rest. The next thing I knew I was in the hospital, and he was gone. I had no idea how I survived until he told me that story."

Damon brushed a tear from her cheek. His heart ached for her.

"See, the thing about my nightmares? They're more like flashbacks than anything else. I get to relive everything I remember from the crash. Before Stefan came clean about saving me, the dreams ended with me blacking out under water. But the few times I've had them since he did tell me, that part of the night has become part of the dreams. I say it in the dream. Apparently I say it out loud, too."

Suddenly exhausted, Elena closed her eyes, then opened them again as images from that horrible night flashed behind her closed lids. Her voice came out sharper than intended when she spoke again. "So, are you satisfied now?"

"Did you have the nightmare the second night, too?" he knew he should just drop it, but he simply couldn't. Because no; Damon wasn't quite satisfied. She'd put one question to bed, but the other remained. And it was that second night that they'd actually been together, physically. That she'd curled up beside him and dreamt of his brother.

"The second night I had a vision of the freaking future," she snapped.

Damon arched a brow but didn't speak.

"Damn it, Damon. I don't remember the details, but the upshot? Stefan walked in on you and I, and he turned to leave and I called his name. Okay? I was dreaming of _you_. Every time I fall asleep I seem to wind up dreaming of you." She didn't sound all that happy about it - her tone was acidic, like she blamed him for haunting her dreams. If that was the case, she certainly couldn't expect an apology any time soon.

"I know how that is," he murmured. "Even if I'm dreaming about a threesome with two hot chicks you make a cameo - not the sexy kind but the 'Ew, Damon, you're gross' mood-killing kind - and ruin it."

In spite of herself, Elena smiled. "Well, my apologies. How rude of me to interrupt your fantasies."

"I forgive you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead and breathing her in.

"Do you think he's going to come back soon, Damon? I feel like I should find him. Or at least call him." Her stomach churned just thinking about the inevitable confrontation.

"If he doesn't want to be found, you won't find him." He saw the heartbreak in her expression and sighed. "Of course, I probably could. I've had the privilege of knowing the guy for a fucking century. If you wanna call that a privilege." His tone suggested that he didn't.

"I just need to know he's okay, Damon." There was an unspoken plea in her eyes.

"And then what? After I find him and bring him back, what then?"

"I - "

"You know what? Forget it. I'm gonna go find my brother, and we're gonna get shit-faced." He got to his feet and pulled his keys out of his pocket, twirling them around his finger. "I'm not going to lie, Elena. I'm not going to give you an ultimatum or tell you you have to make up your mind or I'm out of here. I wish I could, but I spent a century and a half pining after Katherine, and the way I felt for her doesn't begin to touch what I feel for you."

He bent over her and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up so she'd meet his eyes.

"I'm also not going to tell you I'll wait forever. Every man has his breaking point. I have no idea when I'll reach mine. But if history is any judge, you've got a good while," he added, grinning. He sobered quickly and continued. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... figure things out. Take your time, if that's what you need. You're worth it, worth the wait. But know that if you want this, if you want me... be sure. Because if I'm ever lucky enough to have you, there's no fucking way I'm letting go. I love you, Elena. So yeah. Take your time. Just try not to take too much."

His lips crushed down on hers before she could form a response. The kiss fried her nerve endings, rendered her incapable of coherent thought. When he pulled back he saw, with no little satisfaction, that her eyes were clouded, dazed. Drugged by his kiss.

Before she could recover, he was gone.

She pressed a finger to her still-tingling lips and cursed Damon Salvatore for making her love him.

But those lips were curved in a smile.


	15. Chapter 15: Choices

For the moment, Elena was stranded at Maison Salvatore. She had no means of transportation, and while she could call Caroline, Bonnie, Matt - she wasn't short on options - she didn't want anyone else's thoughts competing with her own.

Not that she really wanted her own, either. For the second time that day Damon had given her a vicious headache, although this time around it was the product of stress, not violence. It was the product of a thousand thoughts all struggling for dominance in an overcrowded brain.

Was it wrong that part of her got a serious kick out of being able to drive Damon to that violence? To provoke him and watch his eyes flash with barely repressed anger? To push him beyond the bounds of self-control till he snapped, till he stopped repressing? Maybe it was because she knew he could ultimately heal her of any injury; maybe it was the illogical way that he made her feel safe even when he was anything but. Maybe she was just twisted somewhere deep inside, because damn it, he was unbelievably sexy when he was so pissed off. It was wrong, so wrong for her to goad him into losing his already tenuous hold on control. To enjoy doing it.

He'd strangled her. And she'd not only forgiven him, but forced him to accept that forgiveness.

Was that love, or was it sickness?

And why couldn't she make herself care?

A stray thought interrupted her silent self-recrimination as it crossed her mind that post-fight make-up sex with Damon would be mind-blowing.

Jesus, she was twisted.

What he'd done had been so entirely, inarguably _wrong_. She knew that, recognized it without trying to pretty up an ugly picture. And he knew that. God knew it weighed heavily on his conscience.

He also knew it wasn't okay. It was anything _but _okay. And when she'd said she had faith in him, in his ability to allow his fury to wreak havoc as long as none of that havoc was aimed her way, she truly meant it. The knowledge that he'd hurt her was killing him. But it had been hugely important, vital, really, for her to call him on his trip to Woe Is Me land. He had no right to act like the worst part of all this was his paralyzing remorse. Had no right to bitch to her about how horrible he felt when he was the offender, when he was a hundred percent to blame.

She'd needed him to recognize that fact, to recognize that while it was perfectly understandable for him to feel like, to put it frankly, total shit. But it wasn't okay to make the situation about him. She refused to think of herself as the victim. But if anyone was stuck with that uncomfortable label, it was her.

She resolved then and there never to use the incident against him later. Never to throw it back in his face. She wouldn't forget what had happened, and God knew he wouldn't either. But she'd forgive, and they'd move on. Because she had such a high, desperate, likely foolish hopes for a relationship with him. She didn't want to, wouldn't, throw it all out the window, wouldn't write it off before it began. She'd pushed him to do what he'd done - which in no way excused it. Still, she'd known what she was doing, known that she wanted to make him hurt, make him react, and she'd sure as hell pulled that off.

He shouldn't have reacted in quite that way, of course. But he had, and she'd been stupid enough to let it happen - which was odd, given her fierce survival instinct. She could've pulled the knee-to-the-crotch move, which had an impressive success rate, but she hadn't. She'd looked at him and thought, poor Damon. He's gonna feel miserable about this later.

So just as she resolved to never taunt him with his own actions, she resolved to never play passive victim again. She was stronger than that, and he was stronger than putting her in such a position a second time.

They'd be fine. If she could come to terms with it, he damn well had better, too. And if his temper ever, ever again got the best of him, she'd just stake him.

It wouldn't, though. She didn't know how she could possibly be so sure of such a thing, but something deep in her gut knew that he'd do absolutely anything to stop himself from ever hurting her again. The guy would probably snap his own neck if he felt his anger rising to a dangerous level. After all, he was far better at directing negative feelings toward himself than anyone else.

God knows that setting off her temper was one of his specialties as well. It hadn't been like that with Stefan. Sometimes she picked fights with Damon just for the fun of it, just to push him to his limits. There was so much passion, such wicked spark dancing between them. It would be a crime not to take advantage of, not to explore, something so volatile, so exciting, so wild and delicious and _right_.

She shook those daydreamy thoughts off and focused on the matter at hand. Stefan. God, if it wasn't one Salvatore, it was the other. Story of her (recent) life. It was strange, though; sometimes she found herself wishing that she wished neither Salvatore brother ever came to Mystic. Wishing that she wished she'd never heard the name.

The reality of it was that she wanted them here, with her, despite all the hellishness that accompanied their arrival in her life. That life had been simpler, sure, in the pre-Salvatore era. But it also lacked... something. Something that the Salvatores and all their excess baggage provided in spades.

Even when she'd been with Matt, when she'd been the bright, smiling, peppy cheerleader, she'd felt the need for that extra something. She wasn't unhappy by any means, but she'd constantly dreamed of more. She hadn't been able to define the source of her dissatisfaction. It had simply been there, hidden beneath the surface, easy enough to ignore for long stretches of time before it stirred itself up and whispered, "Is this it? There must be more..."

Well, she'd gotten more. Far more than she'd bargained for, but even when she longed for her old life, she knew that it would never have been enough. Besides, the vampire element would've popped up at some point with or without the brothers. Hadn't she found evidence of her own family's knowledge of the supernatural when she and Stefan visited the lake house? Vampires had always been part of the fine print hidden in the margins of her life. Her own birth mother was a vampire, after all, and connections didn't get much closer than that. It was hard to shrug the idea that this life was her destiny.

She didn't believe, though, that destiny meant that her choices didn't matter, that she would've gotten to this point whether she wanted to or not. That would take life's purpose and toss it to the curb; what was the point in living if your destination was predetermined?

This was different. Life had sculpted her circumstances, and she'd been born to a family of vampire hunters in a town rife with vampire history. As a consequence of that, those vampires inevitably crossed her path, first one, then two, then too many. So she did feel that her whole life had been leading her right here, to this stage populated by this cast of fanged characters. To Stefan. To Damon. But from there on out, each action was fully and entirely her own. It wasn't the series of events that brought her to this point that really mattered. What mattered came down to the choices she made now, and where those choices would take her.

_Yep,_ she thought, irritably. _It all comes down to choices. _

Contrary to whatever the hell Damon believed, Elena had already made hers. Things would never have progressed to that level of intimacy with him if she hadn't. Choosing wasn't the issue. The issue was the impossible conversation she had to have with the guy she hadn't chosen. With Stefan.

She still loved him. She'd always love him. But she didn't want to be with him, not anymore. He'd left Mystic, left her behind, shattered in the wake of so much tragedy. And Damon was there to stand by her as she picked up the pieces and rebuilt her life.

She understood that Stefan had gone for pure and honorable reasons. He'd done it to save his brother. But in doing so, he'd knocked down the obstacles separating herself and Damon. The comfortable, reassuring barrier vanished the moment Stefan left town. And anyone with eyes could see that there had been something between herself and Damon from the very first moment, when he'd kissed her hand and shot bolts of intrigue, fascination, undiluted lust, through her body. He'd looked into her eyes, and she'd _known _them. She'd seen something in their blue depths, something so big, so powerful, that she'd pulled away, frightened.

She'd backed away from even the possibility of Damon and stumbled into the safe, warm, steadying embrace of Stefan's arms.

She didn't want safe or warm or steady anymore. Her life was none of those things, and hadn't been for a long, long time. A tiny, guilty voice wondered if Stefan had always been her safe haven, the Salvatore she _should_ be with - the smarter choice. Everything about him was such a comfort in a time when she'd desperately needed someone to hold on to. Was that all she'd sought in her time with Stefan? A place to hide, shelter from the eternal storm that was her life?

No, she truly had loved him, had been in love with him. He'd been exactly what she needed at the time. But he'd left. And this time, instead of reacting to the grief of lost loved ones by seeking comfort in someone else's arms, she stood strong. She didn't lean on anyone else. Yes, Damon stood beside her through it all, and on more than one occasion that knowledge alone kept her from giving up all together. But she hadn't used him as a shelter. In Damon, she had a friend. An ally. Someone who would stick it out with her no matter how bad things got, who would protect her if necessary but recognized her ability to protect herself.

Hadn't he proven that the night she and ric went in search of Stefan? He'd shown up there in the woods, and he'd bitched and moaned and told her she was an idiot. He'd gone above and beyond by shoving her in the water - and damn if that hadn't been infuriating and somehow amusing all at once. Not that she'd let her lips so much as twitch with humor.

Honestly, he' done her a favor. It had been hot as hell that day.

So yeah, he'd been pissed - furious, really - to know she'd put herself in yet another life-or-death situation. But he didn't leave her side, and he didn't forcibly drag her out of harm's way, even though it was clear that he wanted to do just that. Instead, he let her do what he knew she needed to do, and only intervened when they both knew she wouldn't survive alone. He'd faced off with the sole creature higher than a vampire on the food chain, the sole species capable of annihilating his own.

She no longer wanted to bury her head in the safety of anyone's shoulder while the endless battle that was her life raged on. She wanted to fight. And she wanted to fight with Damon standing tall by her side.

Maybe holding her hand, too. But that wasn't weakness, that wasn't hiding. That was seeking strength where she knew she'd find it.

Which left Stefan where, exactly? Behind her? A shadow literally watching her back at all times? Beside her but not quite close enough to touch? A spectator forced to watch the girl he loved and the brother he loved... while they lost themselves in loving each other?

She put her head in her hands and raked her fingers through her hair, tired and pissed off and almost - almost - wishing there was some looming threat, a Klaus or a Katherine or an _anything_, that would distract her from the problem at hand and allow her to put it aside at least for a moment.

Even as the thought passed through her mind an alarmingly loud crash shattered the silence, followed quickly by the sound of Damon's voice as he let loose a stream of curses.

Elena winced, muttered a curse of her own, and headed toward a scene she'd witnessed at least twelve times too many. Bracing herself for the chaos waiting around the corner, she walked straight into the eye of the storm. She didn't have any other choice. _Someone_ had to keep the Salvatore brothers from killing each other.

Apparently it was her lucky day.


	16. Chapter 16: Collateral Damage

AUTHOR'S WARNING: Shit's about to get real guys. Brace yourselves, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

* * *

There were certain perks to being a vampire, and Stefan was looking forward to taking full advantage of one of those perks as he pulled into the driveway of the Salvatore boardinghouse.

His blood was running hot, his temper running hotter. It just about killed him, seeing Elena, with that intense, undeniably sexual spark in her eye as she drank Damon's blood.

Damon's blood. Not his. Damon's. And it wasn't like Stefan hadn't offered. Hell, he'd been tempted to force her to take a taste if only to heal the ring of bruises Kol had left around her slender throat. But Stefan didn't operate that way. He wasn't going to force her - not after Damon having done just that only months ago.

Besides, he hadn't thought he'd need to resort to the use of force. He really hadn't considered that she'd turn him down.

He'd wanted to question her, to find out why she'd say no to such a simple, easy fix. But he'd chosen not to challenge her decision - to respect it, and respect her.

He wished he could convince himself that Damon had done what he, Stefan, hadn't. That Damon slashed open his wrist and made Elena drink, made her heal. And really, if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would've laughed at the very notion. Elena willingly drinking his brother's blood, right from his very wrist? Christ, Damon could've at least been civilized enough to use a glass.

The whole episode had been too much for Stefan to process. So rather than face whatever the hell he'd just witnessed, he jumped in Damon's car - his careless brother had left the keys in the ignition - and peeled out of the driveway.

He drove aimlessly, with only his own pain, his own distraught confusion keeping him company. Something was there between his brother and Elena. Something always had been - he wasn't blind. But Elena had never embraced that 'something' - she hadn't been interested in pursuing the devastating whirlwind that was Damon Salvatore.

The look on her face as she drank Damon's blood wasn't an interested look. It was much, much more. It was hot, fiery. It was pure, naked desire. And it was aimed not at Stefan, but at his reckless, impulsive, unreliable, total dick of an older brother.

Within fifteen minutes of leaving the boardinghouse, Stefan had abruptly turned the car around, unknowingly retracing the marks left by Damon's u-turn earlier that day. He'd thought that being alone was the necessary step, but there was another option, and it was much more appealing. Fuck being sad. Hadn't katherine put it best when she'd told him to just get mad?

Yes. Hold tight to the anger. Keep it close, keep it burning bright. And go home and beat Damon's stupid, cocky, irritatingly handsome face in.

Because that was the thing about two vampires fighting: you didn't have to hold back.

Stefan certainly didn't plan to.

Damon swung the front door open and headed to his car, already mulling over possible places Stefan might be. He pulled up short when he saw only an empty space where his car should be. He dug through his pockets and came up empty-handed; he'd left the keys in the ignition. Again. Damn.

He was contemplating hot-wiring Stefan's little red speedster - he was a little rusty on the skill and figured a bit of practice wouldn't hurt - when his own car came roaring into the driveway. Stefan stopped the car a breath away from the closed garage door - prompting Damon to let out his own breath, one he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Stefan stepped out of the car and shot Damon a brilliant white smile. His black wayfarers hid his dark eyes, but Damon knew his brother, and knew when Stefan's smile was friendly, and when it was feral. This one was most definitely the latter.

"Hello, brother," Stefan called out in a deceptively cheerful tone.

"Close one," Damon answered, tilting his head in the direction of his car. "Nearly kissed the bumper."

"I know," Stefan said, giving a negligent shrug. "I'm the one who was driving it, remember? Indulging myself with one of _your_ toys for a change."

Damon's jaw clenched involuntarily. "What are you getting at, little bro?"

"Just that it's so nice for us to share the way we do. You played with something of mine, so i thought I'd play with something of yours."

"Elena isn't a fucking car, Stefan."

"But she's an easy ride, isn't she?" A devil had taken hold of Stefan's tongue, and he didn't care enough to shake it loose.

Damon closed the distance between himself and Stefan in a fraction of a heartbeat. He gripped a fistful of Stefan's shirt and slammed his younger brother against the garage door.

"Do _not_ talk about her like that."

Stefan shoved Damon back with enough force to send him flying across the yard, but Damon was on his feet, quick as a flash.

"Suddenly you're Mister Chivalry, huh?"

"You wanna hit me? I'll give you a freebie. It's only fair, since I fully intend to kick your ass."

Stefan rushed Damon; Damon stepped aside at the last moment but left one foot in place, causing Stefan to tumble. Quick as a very lethal, very poisonous snake, Stefan's arm snatched one of the belt loops on Damon's jeans, yanking his older brother down and wrestling him to he ground. His green eyes gleamed against his olive skin.

"What other bodily fluids did you two exchange, anyway?" Stefan aimed for a flippant, uncaring tone, but the bite behind it betrayed his anger, his hurt, his emotional turmoil.

"Forget the freebie," Damon said, slamming his fist into Stefan's face. Stefan's lip split; the scent of blood had both their eyes going red, going wild.

"You don't deserve her." Stefan spat out the blood in his mouth. "I _love_ her."

"Fucking newsflash, brother: I love her, too!" Damon paired the declaration with another hard shove, tackling Stefan to the ground again. Limbs tangled, and for several minutes, the only sounds were those of flesh hitting flesh, of fragile bones snapping. Of panting breaths and the occasional moan of pain, not so much because of the injuries they inflicted on each other but from the pain of their bodies healing those injuries even as more rained down.

"Shit," Damon muttered, pulling back to examine the bloody, broken knuckles of his right hand.

Stefan didn't answer, couldn't answer, couldn't even breathe; a sharp pain in his side told him why. He'd felt that pain before. Damon had broken a rib, and that rib had punctured Stefan's lung.

The brothers burned each other with their searing gazes. If looks could kill, indeed.

"Got a rib, didn't I?" Damon grinned viciously.

Stefan made a grab for his brother, and when Damon's fist swung forward, Stefan caught it in his own hand and squeezed brutally. He gave Damon's arm an unforgiving twist, forcing his brother to his knees.

"How's the hand?" Stefan asked, returning the smile. His lung was mending, re-inflating. He could breathe again.

Damon aimed a kick to the back of Stefan's knee; caught off balance, Stefan hit the pavement, scraping his palms on the unforgiving concrete.

"It hurts like a bitch, but it'll still get the job done." Damon said it with a sneer, but the fight was going out of him. Because he knew what his brother was feeling. How many times had he experienced the heartbreak caused by loving Elena Gilbert? Slowly, he got to his feet, then extended his still-healing hand. After a moment of tense silence, Stefan accepted his brother's hand and let Damon pull him upright.

Damon's tone was deliberately light when he spoke. "Feel any better?"

"Not particularly," Stefan said. "It sure as hell was easier when she hated you," he added as an afterthought.

Damon let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Sure as hell was easier when you were still in Ripper Stefan mode."

Damon leaned back against the brick flanking the glass entryway of the boardinghouse. Stefan stood across from him, legs shoulder-width apart, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. Both their faces were healing; there wasn't time for the black eye Stefan had given Damon to swell into a full-on shiner, and the lip Damon had torn open was long closed, leaving Stefan's mouth twisted in a wry grin.

"It is easier. Much easier, not to care."

"I know it," Damon said, sending his brother a small smile. "Look, I'm sorry you had to see... I'm sorry, okay? But it was only right that I heal her, you know? I'm the asshole who hurt her in the first place."

Every muscle in Stefan's body went rigid. his mouth barely moved when he spoke. "Excuse me?"

Damon was unaware of the change in Stefan's posture; he was staring into space, replaying the moment when Elena's eyes closed, when she succumbed to unconsciousness. He was hearing the sound of her head slamming sharp and loud against the car, remembering how shocked he'd been at his own actions, remembered staring in horror down at his hands, too stunned to catch her before her head connected with the side-view mirror.

Now Damon shook his head in an effort to shake the thoughts away. When he refocused his eyes, he was startled to see his brother, inches away, looking at Damon with molten anger bubbling in his eyes.

"Are we doing this again?" Damon asked, feigning indifference.

"What do you mean, you hurt her in the first place?" Each word was like a bullet, bitten off by Stefan's hungry teeth.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Damon tried to shrug his shoulders. Guilt made the movement jerky, tense. Guilt made him look exactly like what he was: guilty.

"The bruises on her neck. They were from _you_?" Stefan fist was clenching and unclenching at his side, his body going back into fight mode. He took the hand he wasn't flexing and brought it to Damon's neck, closed his long fingers around his brother's throat. "You did that? You _strangled_ her?"

Damon opened his mouth to respond, only to find that he had no words. There was nothing to say to defend himself; what he'd done had been one hundred percent wrong. He didn't remove Stefan's hand, but returned his brother's gaze and managed one barely perceptible nod.

Stefan's vision went red, his hand tightening on Damon's throat before he lifted his brother into the air and threw him against the door. Glass shattered, blood spilled, but it wasn't enough. Damon fell through the jagged opening left by the broken glass, and Stefan launched himself onto Damon's prone form, leveling his brother with blow after blow. Damon wasn't even defending himself. Because he knew he was getting what he deserved.

And then he thought, fuck that. No, he would fight. Because even though he'd done something terribly wrong, if he let his brother kill him he'd never have the opportunity to right that wrong. He'd never have the opportunity to see what could, what just might, happen with Elena. The past few days, God, the past few nights - they were so full of promise. He wouldn't, couldn't give up when he was so close to something so, so good.

He wouldn't give up because he loved her. And he'd promised never to leave.

When he launched himself at Stefan, it was with a renewed ferocity. The banister of the curving stairway splintered; Stefan dodged Damon's fist so that it punched a hole in the wall. Neither could see through the bloody haze of anger. Neither could hear anything but the sound of their own blood pounding in their ears.

The outer world ceased to exist. Elena ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was blood, was making it pour from each other's bodies. The only thing that mattered was the sound of flesh pounding flesh, of bones snapping and hot blood pumping through hot veins.

They were completely unaware of anything but each other. Of anything but the thrill of landing the next blow.

So neither one saw Elena, neither one heard her, as she strode into the room and yelled, pleaded, her voice rapidly going from calm - "Okay, enough of the testosterone display, guys" - to panicked - "You have to stop this! You're going to kill each other!"

Stefan shoved Damon; Damon staggered back half a step. Elena, who had been trying to shake Damon's shoulder, stumbled to the floor.

She struggled to get to her feet. Damon stayed on his, feinting left and catching Stefan off guard with an attack on the right. Stefan groped blindly for a weapon, his hand closing on a bust of some long dead poet. The piece, carved out of marble, was heavy. Hefty. Perfect.

Stefan drew his arm back, power singing through his veins as he put every bit of anger and energy behind his swing. He launched it into the air; the piece of statuary went flying toward its intended target. Stefan waited with grim satisfaction to hear the resounding _crack_ the marble would make when it smashed Damon's skull.

Damon anticipated the move. He ducked; the marble arced over his head, and he wore an infuriating smirk as he looked at Stefan.

"Missed me," he said, smirk widening into a full on grin.

But Stefan wasn't moving. His features were frozen in shock as he stared at something over Damon's shoulder. The boiling blood in Damon's veins turned to ice. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Slowly, sheer terror pulsing in every individual cell of his body, Damon turned around.

Stefan had missed Damon.

He hadn't missed the innocent bystander caught in the melee of fists and fury.

Elena lay crumpled on the floor. Blood, gray matter, and shards of bone formed a grisly halo around her head.

She didn't move. She didn't breathe.

She couldn't. Her heart was silent. Her eyes were vacant.

She was dead.


	17. Chapter 17: New Beginnings

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Super sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, the more invested I get the more I refuse to half-ass it by posting the original without taking the time to go through it for you guys. I've been busy as hell with lots of work and little play but I'm working on the next few chapters now so hopefully they'll be less wait time for you. It was a shit time because of the cliffhanger and I sincerely apologize, I swear I wasn't just trying to torture you guys.

I know this plot twist shock to most of you and when I wrote it it was a shock to me, too. Remember, this was written before Elena actually became a vampire on the show - before the s3 finale, actually. I still think it should've gone a little more like this...

* * *

It was Damon who snapped into action after a long moment of horrified shock. Slowly, with infinite care and tenderness, he slipped his arms under Elena, cradling her prone form.

"I'm taking her to my room," he said, voice hoarse as he tried to block the scent of her blood as it clotted, as he tried to ignore the wound fracturing her skull.

Stefan didn't answer. He was barely aware of his surroundings, too stunned by what had just happened to function.

He'd killed her. And Damon had unwittingly given her a chance at rebirth. She would wake up, and she would look into Stefan's eyes knowing he'd ended her life. And she would hate him. She would hate him for... forever.

An eternity of misery, he thought, heart pumping pure anguish through his veins. An eternity of misery, starting now.

He didn't know how much time had passed when a figure appeared at the front door, not bothering to open it and instead ducking through the shattered glass frame. The figure spoke, but Stefan heard only a dim buzzing in his ears. Letting out an irritated sigh, the person extended a hand and cupped Stefan's chin, tilting it upward and forcing his gaze to meet a pair of big blue eyes.

"Earth to Stefan. Hey, Salvatore, are you in there?"

"Caroline," he said, looking at her blankly. His tone was flat, empty.

"The one and only," she responded, forcing her voice into a light and airy breeze. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. "Damon called me," she supplied when Stefan remained silent. "He told me to come over. Actually he told me to 'get your ass here ten minutes ago.' I told him I'm still perfecting the art of time travel but he'd already hung up. No one appreciates my humor."

Silence, silence that beat violently, loudly, against her skull.

"Stefan!" She snapped her fingers in front of his face, fully prepared to slap him if the need arose. "What _happened_?" Despite her attempt at cheer, she was starting to panic.

"Elena," Stefan managed finally, his voice cracking.

Caroline knelt into a crouch and kept Stefan's eyes riveted on hers. She recognized the shock on his face - she'd seen it in the mirror not so long ago, the day she'd woken in a hospital bed and lusted for blood. Her heart was beating hard and fast, but she kept her tone level.

"What about her?"

"She's - " Stefan broke her gaze and dropped his head into his hands. Caroline felt a brutal twist deep in her gut.

"Stefan. _Stefan._ Is she - is she..." she swallowed, closed her eyes, opened them again. "Is she okay? Is she..." She couldn't seem to form the word and chose its opposite. "Is she alive, Stefan?"

"Depends on your definition."

Caroline's head whipped in the direction of Damon's voice as the sick feeling in her stomach intensified. She licked her lips, her throat having gone suddenly dry.

She got to her feet and noticed with a distant sort of surprise that her body was trembling. Vampires had little reaction to temperature; this chill wasn't in the air. It was in her very bones. "Damon, please tell me you don't mean what I think you mean."

Damon's tone was as blank as his face. "If you think Elena died with vampire blood in her system and will be coming back as a vampire any time now, then yeah. I mean exactly that."

Tears filled Caroline's, a reaction as knee-jerk as Pavlov's dogs responding to the dinner bell. Not Elena. No, not her, not the girl who'd already lost so incredibly much. Oh, God, this would destroy her.

One thought chased another as Caroline suddenly wondered, feeling a little frantic, if Elena would choose option B - the option none of the vampires in the room had gone with. Which was, of course, why they were vampires.

What if she refused to feed? What if she did what Caroline's own father had done, and just gave up, gave in? Elena loved her share of vampires, sure, but what she loved about them was their humanity, the good in them, not the monster, not the blood junkie.

But no, she'd never give up. Elena Gilbert was too strong for that. If not for herself, she'd feed for her brother. She wouldn't leave Jeremy to face more loss, more grief. Not when she could do something to prevent it.

Damon didn't offer further explanation, and Caroline abruptly got to her feet, deciding to ask the only question that really mattered in that moment.

"Where is she?"

Damon nodded. "That's why you're here. I want you to be there when... I want you to be the one she sees when she wakes up. She'll need you more than she needs either of us."

Caroline didn't comment on that, because she agreed wholeheartedly. Not because Elena wouldn't want to see Damon, but because sometimes, you just needed your girlfriend. God knows she would've been grateful to wake up in the hospital to Elena's warm, comforting presence on the day her life ended and began all at once.

She gestured to the mug Damon gripped tightly in his hand. His knuckles were white. "You're gonna break that. And you've already got a big mess on your hands."

Damon looked down at the cup; he hadn't realized it was there. Shaking his head to snap himself back to reality he thrust the cup into her hands. "For Elena. When she - if she..."

Caroline gave one sharp nod. "Where is she, Damon?"

"My room."

"Have you called Jeremy?"

"Just you."

She nodded again. "Okay. Good call - ha, ha. That's probably best for now." She turned to Stefan. "Hey, Salvatore," she said. Her tone had a decided bite to it. "You need to snap out of it. She's going to need you - all of us. So get it together or get out of the way. It's gonna be hard enough for her without having to deal with your guilty conscience." The guilt, the pain, was a shroud, wrapping itself around Stefan in a death grip.

How was it possible that he looked like he'd aged since the last time she'd seen him?

Stefan looked up, eyes bleak. He ignored the accusation and got to his feet. "Need some air," he murmured, walking away without another word.

"What did you mean about the guilty conscience thing, Caroline?" Damon's eyes blazed with something - anger, she decided, borne of his complete and total helplessness - as they met hers.

"I'm not blind - it's all over his face. Yours too. I don't know what you guys did, but you need to deal with it on your own time. Can you do that?"

Damon gave her a dry, utterly humorless smile. "Called you, didn't I?"

"There's hope for you yet, Damon salvatore."

She was a caring person, one who would never relish someone else's pain. Even though she and Damon didn't have the best history, she'd never wish this agony on him. Clearly, one way or another, he was responsible for Elena's death - and Elena's new life. Both brothers were; she could see that plain as day. And she could see just as clearly that it was killing them. Holding the mug in one hand, she reached out with the other and squeezed Damon's hand briefly.

"It's going to be okay. Know why?" He didn't answer, but she hadn't expected him to. "Because there's no other option." She said it firmly, in a voice that brooked no argument. "We're a family, Damon. We're an incredibly dysfunctional, effed up family. But we're a family anyway, and we take care of each other." She jerked her chin in the direction Stefan had gone. "That said, you should go talk to your brother. You don't know how much time you'll have to collect yourselves and put on a happy face, but I'm not letting either of you see her until you stop looking like the walking dead."

Damon arched a dark brow, something almost like amusement flashing through his eyes.

"You know what i mean," Caroline said, giving him a look.

"Thanks for coming, Caroline."

She blinked, thrown momentarily by the word. Or rather, the word coming from Damon's mouth. "Of course. I'll come to you when she's ready. No rushing this, right?"

"No. No, whatever she wants - no rushing. We'll go, if you think that's - Jesus, Caroline, I don't know - "

"Damon, stop. There's no time for this. Go get your brother and be ready with the game face thing."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"How about 'yes ma'am,'" she offered, giving him a cheeky grin.

Caroline Forbes was a healer, through and through. In this moment, Damon was grateful for, not irritated by, the quality.

"Yes ma'am," he said, humoring her.

"Much better."

Dismissing him, Caroline took a long, slow breath, gearing herself up for what would be a difficult encounter - to put it very, very mildly. So many thoughts crowded her head, so many things they'd need to take care of - and God, how would Bonnie react? Would she make Elena another ring, or would she be all bitchy and witchy about it like she'd been for Caroline herself? And Jeremy, how on earth would he handle this? Especially when he found out whatever role the Salvatore brothers played in this whole screwed up situation? Would either brother be able to keep it together in front of Elena? Would she even want to see them? Maybe she could keep Stefan from her bedside, but Damon would only maintain his distance for so long.

Caroline mimicked Damon's earlier move, shaking her head hard to clear it, to dislodge everything in it except the one thing, the one person, who mattered.

Elena needed her. And she wasn't about to let her best friend down.

The human brain is a fascinating thing. Beyond all its obvious functions, the brain is capable of shutting down entirely, blocking out things too disturbing for their human host to handle. It's a defense mechanism, repressing the bad memories, turning them off in an act of self-preservation.

Elena knew it firsthand; she'd shoved her memories of the night Jenna died into a shadowy compartment of her brain, refusing to acknowledge them, refusing to remember her aunt the way she'd been that horrible night.

And now, on a day when memory repression would've been an absolute blessing, that defense mechanism was nowhere to be found. When the neurons in Elena's brain started firing again, when her eyes slowly opened to a whole new world, she wasn't given even a moment's reprieve. She remembered everything.

And she knew. Before she'd even taken a breath in this old but entirely new body, Elena knew the one solid truth ringing violently in her ears.

She was dead. And she was alive.

There was only one explanation for such a combination.

"Morning, sunshine."

Slowly, Elena sat up. The world was brighter than she remembered, and even though her best friend had spoken in a low, gentle tone, Caroline could've been speaking right into her ear.

Hypersensitivity, Elena remembered. Heightened senses. Everything was as it had been; everything was so much more.

So this was what the transition was like.

"I can smell it," she whispered, her eyes focusing in on Caroline's face, drinking in its beautiful familiarity in an unfamiliar world. "Caroline, I can smell my blood." Tears welled in her eyes and she didn't bother blinking them away. What the hell was the point in denying the emotions churning so viciously through her?

"I can smell my blood. It smells good." She shuddered. "Oh, God, I don't want it to smell good."

Caroline came and sat beside her best friend, slipping her arms around Elena's shaking shoulders.

"I know, sweetheart. I know. It's gonna be okay, Elena. I promise you, it's gonna be okay."

Elena buried her head in the crook of Caroline's shoulder; Caroline stroked a hand up and down the back of Elena's head, cautiously avoiding the area matted with dry blood on her friend's scalp.

"Let go, if that's what you need to do. You're not gonna get any judgment from me," Caroline added, her tone light. Elena managed a strangled laugh, but it lasted only seconds before devolving into racking, full body sobs.

"I'm scared, Caroline. I'm so scared."

Caroline rocked Elena gently and made low, soothing noises in her throat. When Elena began to breathe evenly again, Caroline held her at arm's length, keeping her gaze locked on Elena's, the soft blue of her eyes hypnotizing in a way entirely opposite from Damon's. His eyes made her pulse pound; Caroline's soothed.

"I have something here for you," Caroline murmured. "But only if you want it."

Elena didn't need Caroline to elaborate. She already knew what her friend was offering.

"My stomach feels sick just thinking about it."

"I know. It'll make you feel better, though. It helps the nausea. Do you need some time... to decide?"

Elena took another deep, deep breath. She didn't break Caroline's gaze as she slowly moved her head back and forth.

"No."

"I didn't think so." Caroline's smile, beaming and brilliant, seemed entirely out of place. And so entirely perfect. "You're a strong woman, Elena Gilbert. I'm proud of you."

Elena's vision blurred with tears. Caroline began delicately extracting herself from Elena's grip, which tightened convulsively.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice full of heartbreak.

"I'm just gonna grab you your medicine," Caroline told her gently, avoiding the "b" word. Still, she kept one of her hands in Elena's and reached out the other arm, snagging the mug from the bedside table. "Be a good girl and drink up, or I'll go all Nurse Ratched on your ass."

In spite of herself, Elena smiled. "Someone was paying attention in English class."

"I'm a woman of many talents," Caroline answered, making an expression that aimed for knowledgeable sophistication. She pressed the mug into Elena's free hand and watched her steadily. "All kinds of strengths," she went on, flexing her biceps. "You don't wanna mess with me. Don't be fooled by the blonde thing. I'm pretty bad ass."

Elena choked on a laugh, trying desperately not to break down again. It was all so overwhelming, so goddamn scary, but at least she had Caroline at her side. Everything in that moment was so heavy, so draining - it was all too much. And somehow, the amazing Caroline Forbes was making her laugh.

She looked down into the mug she held, simultaneously compelled and repulsed by the blood inside.

One sip. One sip, and she'd be sealing her fate. One sip and the life she'd known was over and gone, forever.

But she'd spoken the truth when she'd told Caroline she didn't need time to think about it - just as Caroline had been right that Jeremy was her tether to this life. She wouldn't leave her brother. She'd kept it together this long, fought this long and this hard. Life kept throwing her curve balls; apparently death would do the same.

Complaining about it wouldn't make a difference. Denial would serve absolutely no purpose. This step was a necessary one. She was terrified, scared down to the marrow in her bones, overwhelmed, nearly paralyzed by the reality of the situation, the reality of her life. Of her death. But she wouldn't run and hide. She'd fight, just as she'd always done.

Caroline squeezed her hand, and Elena lifted her gaze from the blood to Caroline's eyes.

"Hey, you know what's cool?" Caroline's voice was bright with excitement.

"What's that, Care?"

"You know the whole BFF, best friends forever thing?"

Elena forced her eyes to remain on Caroline's, refusing to let them return to the blood sloshing in the mug. Her stomach roiled. "What about it?"

"With us, it's _literally_ true!" Caroline's smile was luminous.

The tears that she thought she'd beaten spilled over onto Elena's cheeks, but her laugh wasn't forced. In spite of everything, she felt so very lucky to have this girl, this brilliant ray of sunshine, beside her, holding her hand.

"Maybe later we can go get some friendship necklaces," Caroline went on, drinking in Elena's smile and taking great heart in the fact that her friend could smile at all. Things would be okay. They would be hard, and they'd be shitty, but in the end, it would all be okay.

"Lesbian friend necklaces?" Elena asked, raising one brow.

Caroline's laugh was light and bright and beautiful. Her eyes were warm, filled with compassion and reassurance and a seemingly endless well of patience, of strength.

"I mean, I just think the world should know about our love," she answered easily.

Elena took one more deep, calming breath.

"I'm right here, Elena." Caroline squeezed her best friend's hand. "Always." She couldn't help adding, "And forever!"

Elena's lips quirked ever so slightly, and she nodded. Closing her eyes she lifted the cup to her lips.

And she drank.

* * *

AUTHOR'S OTHER NOTE: When I said I think it should've gone this way, I simply meant that I think Damon was right when he said "feed or die" and Stefan playing into and encouraging Elena's denial was pretty lame. I know he was desperate but I mean, face the facts, dude.

Question - the "life" column that starts at 90 days and keeps shrinking, does that mean my stories won't be accessible after that period?

MORE SOON! xoxox


	18. Chapter 18: How to Deal

AUTHOR'S NOTE/APOLOGY: I'm so sorry for being so shitty about updating, but I've been having some family issues and I just haven't had the time to give this chapter the attention it deserves for readers who deserve my best. Or at least my pretty good. This is one more DE-less chapter, but it felt necessary to me to see into the brothers' heads, especially Stefan's. Enjoy, review, follow, but most of all, READ! Thanks for your patience guys, I promise I'll post the next chapter before Thursday's TVD, hopefully earlier.

* * *

Damon found Stefan sitting on the porch staring into space as dusk fell over Mystic Falls. Tension came off Stefan in waves; his jaw was clenched so hard that Damon could practically hear the grinding of his brother's teeth.

"Getting chilly," he murmured, more to himself than to Stefan.

Stefan started. He'd been so detached, so lost in the roaring silence of his own mind, that even with vampire hearing he hadn't heard Damon's approach. He looked up at his brother and quickly looked away. The pain haunting Damon's eyes served only to remind Stefan that none of this was a dream. That Elena was dead.

That she'd be back as a vampire.

He closed his eyes and saw her lying unmoving on the floor. He opened them and saw her lying unmoving on the floor.

Would he ever see her any other way?

"Stef."

A slight shift in posture was the only sign that Stefan heard Damon.

Damon leaned against one of the pillars flanking the small porch and sighed. He wanted to go to Elena, to hold her, to see her smile and know she was okay. But right then, it was more important to do damage control with Stefan. He had to help his brother get it together - no way in hell was Stefan going to make Elena feel even worse about the whole fucking mess by having to see the guilt in his green eyes. It would probably prompt her to apologize for getting in the middle of their fight. That was Elena, though. Always trying to protect those she loved, even when she had to protect them from themselves.

Damon drummed restless fingers on his thigh, and when he spoke he aimed for a blank tone, carefully editing the grief from his voice. "Okay, listen up, little bro. That girl upstairs, the one we both love? She's gonna have a hell of a time dealing with all this without having to handle your big sad puppy eyes, too. Christ, I can't believe I'm saying this, and if you ever repeat it I'm gonna say you're full of shit - but Caroline's right. Vampire Barbie apparently comes with a brain as an accessory."

Damon's attempt at humor fell flat. He let out a sharp huff of frustration. "Seriously, Stefan. We've gotta get it together. This is gonna be a hard enough transition for her without us being all screwed up about it. Caroline may have a flaw or two or I don't know, a million... but at the end of the day she's a good friend. When it comes down to it, you want that girl on your team. I know I'm glad she's on ours."

Some distant part of Stefan's brain recognized the sentiment, even the familiar phrasing, of Damon's words. He was fairly certain that he'd once described Caroline in a very similar way. Stefan had a great deal of respect for the girl. He'd shared the doubts Damon had voiced after Caroline changed - she just hadn't seemed like the best candidate for surviving the transition into vamphood. But she'd proved everyone wrong. And she wasn't merely surviving. She was thriving.

Would Elena thrive? Would Elena even survive?

Damon's next words echoed Stefan's thoughts. "I'd be a hell of a lot more worried" - like that was possible, he thought darkly - "if we didn't have her around. Caroline, that is. Somehow she managed to actually improve once her fangs grew in. There's no one better to have on hand than a well-adjusted vampire when we're dealing with a newbie."

Stefan remained silent, unmoving save the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his fist. Damon's irritation spiked and he shoved a hand through his hair, pacing the porch.

"Look, Stefan, this sucks. I mean it just all around _sucks_. This was never supposed to happen. What we are? It was never supposed to touch her. Jesus, I never wanted this to touch her."

He abruptly stopped pacing and dropped to a crouch in front of his brother, meeting Stefan's tortured gaze.

"You helped make Caroline who she is now, you know. Helped her handle the transition and everything. You can do the same thing for Elena, Stefan. Between the three of us - not to mention the witch, little brother, maybe even teen wolf - we'll make this work. You know why, Stefan?" Damon's voice had a decidedly desperate edge to it now, and he paused for a moment in an attempt to rein in the overwhelming emotions threatening to drown him.

"We'll make it work because _we have to_. There's no other option. We're gonna pull her through this and take care of her. Teach her how to take care of herself."

When Stefan finally spoke, his voice was raw.

"Maybe it doesn't have to come to that."

"What are you talking about?" But Damon had a feeling he already knew. He watched his brother warily as he stood again, with Stefan following his example. But while Damon looked deceptively at ease, Stefan was tense, wired, restless. Now it was his turn to pace. As he did, Damon saw hope - pathetic, useless, pointless hope - all over Stefan's face.

"Maybe we can stop it. Before the change is complete. I mean, who knows - maybe there's something we can do." There was a feverish energy to Stefan's movements and when he spoke it was more to himself than to Damon.

"A witch, we've got a witch... and she's got the Grim Noir... maybe there's something in it, maybe there's some charm or potion or, God, I don't know, maybe there's a time travel spell! And we can just go back and it'll be as if none of this ever happened. It'll be like - " his voice cracked. He was grasping at straws and he knew what Damon was going to say before his brother even opened his mouth.

"Stefan, there are no charms or potions or spells. You know that. There's only one option. We're gonna get her through this. But you've gotta wrap your head around what's happening and deal with it yourself. Caroline's right - you need to get the hell out of here if you can't keep it together. All we can do now is help her."

"You don't _know_ that's all we can do," Stefan shot back, whirling to face his brother. With his typical lazy grace, Damon propped a hip against the pillar and crossed his arms, raising one dark brow.

"Wrong, Stef. I do know. And you do, too. In the history of history no vampire has ever been... un-vampired. Come on, dude, we don't have time to fuck around, and we _definitely _don't need to give her false hope. You know that's what it'd be, to make her think there's even the smallest possibility that she can reverse this."

Hating that he spoke nothing but the cold hard truth, Damon lifted a hand to his temple, massaging it in concentric circles. For the first time since becoming a vampire, he was getting a headache.

Stefan had resumed his pacing, but now he turned again to look at Damon. His eyes were bright with tears and his voice was pure anguish.

"Damon, I killed her. I killed her."

The pain vibrating through Stefan's words hit Damon like a wave. He found himself wanting to succumb to that ocean of grief, to simply drown in it. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The idea of a fanged monster setting up shop in Elena's soft, small, sexy body - it was unbearable. No matter what she went through, no matter the trials she faced, somehow Elena had always maintained a beautiful innocence, a glow of youth, a sense of hope when everyone else had given up.

He couldn't stomach the idea that she could possibly exist in this world without that innocence, that youth, that hope.

Christ, what had they _done_?

Damon forced himself back to the present, closing his eyes and scowling at the strength of the headache that had crashed full force down on him.

Like the statue that had crashed full force down on Elena's fragile skull.

He fought to shake the image away, opening his eyes and looking sharply at Stefan instead.

"You don't get all the credit, brother. I'd say it was a combined effort."

Stefan wasn't fooled by Damon's wry tone. Humor, sarcasm - they were Damon's standard coping mechanisms. And while they weren't particularly efficient or useful, opting for wit rather than flat out denial was, in this case, definitely the healthier, and smarter, choice.

Stefan considered, for the first time, that he wasn't the only one feeling terribly, sickeningly guilty. Because yes, Damon was the reason Elena had vampire blood in her system in the first place. And yes, he was the one who'd injured her to the point that she needed that blood to heal.

But then, had she really needed it? She'd been functional, left with nothing more severe than some angry bruising and a headache easily conquered by one or two Vicodin. She hadn't truly needed to drink Damon's blood. She wasn't stupid; if vampire blood was absolutely necessary to her survival she wouldn't have been picky, would've accepted Stefan's. No, drinking from Damon's wrist wasn't about fixing physical wounds. Knowing the truth about her injury helped him recognize the blood sharing for what it was - a gesture of forgiveness, a sensual, intimate move that had meaning far beyond simple healing. She'd wanted that exchange, wanted to absolve Damon of his sin, wanted to share that vital, passionate act with him - and the knowledge had torn Stefan apart.

Even if Damon hadn't slipped up and confessed to having hurt Elena - and now that Stefan had a moment to think, he considered the significance of Elena's lie, and exactly what it meant in regards to her feelings for Damon - Stefan still would've gone on the attack. He'd been blind with rage, with pain. He'd needed an outlet for both, and Damon was the obvious choice. The fight was supposed to be bad. It was supposed to inflict gross amounts of pain, to spatter the walls with blood.

But it wasn't meant to end in death. Not his brother's, and never, never Elena's.

He'd been so consumed by his anger, so lost inside it that everything else fell away until the world consisted only of bone grinding against bone, fists slamming against flesh, blood spilling, sweat streaming, curses flying. And it was that precise feeling, that of being completely and entirely enslaved by the need for violence - that was what caused this whole horrible situation. It was frighteningly similar to the things he'd done as a ripper, to the way his tunnel vision blacked everything out except the target of his rage so that nothing mattered except blood and pain.

No, Stefan wasn't like Damon. He'd never been able to drink blood fresh from a warm human vein, without losing it - without leaving a broken body in his wake. Once the ripper was loose there was no turning back. He hated that part of himself, hated the lack of control - yet in this instance, he'd welcomed it. He had gleefully embraced the fire raging inside him, had given himself over to it entirely. He'd pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the car, practically salivating over the fight he fully intended to pick. His heart beat faster at the thought of spilling his brother's blood. He'd fed flame and fury to the animal inside him, excited and a little desperate to set it free.

And the cost of indulging his anger was greater than he could ever imagine.

Yes, Elena's death was a tragic accident. but it was also the result of Stefan giving in to a part of him he knew to be dark and wild and beyond his control. When he fed off a human, it was like the ripper inside him was a vicious, snarling dog straining at its leash until finally, inevitably, that leash snapped.

Today, though, it wasn't about breaking free of a binding tether. It wasn't like a caged animal escaping. No, it wasn't an escape, not when he'd purposefully reached for the lock keeping the monster at bay, not when he'd calmly unlatched it. Not when he'd knowingly, eagerly opened that cage door.

It had been a conscious decision, letting the ripper loose. And it was a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Okay, you know what Stefan?" Damon's words intruded on Stefan's thoughts. "This whole strong silent stoic thing, it's not working for me. If you can't get your shit together you need to leave, Stefan. We can't make this worse by being all fucking mopey and upset. We fucked up. We fucked up in the worst possible way. Now we've gotta pick up the pieces."

Damon jammed his hands into his pockets and sent his brother a long, measuring look. "What's it gonna be, brother? You in or you out? Because she's bound to be awake by now. Time to get this complete and total freak show on the proverbial road."

Stefan let out a slow breath. In that instant, he found himself wanting to be like his big brother. To be able to accept the facts regardless of how terrible they were and to just deal. But he simply didn't know if he'd be able to look at this new Elena. And God, how would she look at _him_? Would there be blame and condemnation in her deep brown eyes? Pained resignation?

In a sudden move that had Damon taking a half step back, Stefan drew back his arm and sent his fist flying, punching the brick exterior of the house hard enough to shatter his knuckles. The pain was sick and sweet and satisfying.

"She never wanted this," he whispered, hoarse, tired, defeated. He remembered the day she'd spoken those words, the day of Klaus' sacrifice, the day they thought would be her last as a human. "She never wanted this."

Damon shook his head and sent his brother a burning glare. "Shit, Stefan, I know that, you think I don't _know_ that? No one wanted this! But you know what? It happened. So go ahead and keep tearing our house to pieces until you get a grasp on the only thing that matters right now."

Damon pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, trying to will away the paralyzing headache thundering in his skull.

"It's not about what Elena, or you, or I, wanted yesterday. It's about what she wants today. And how we can help her get it."

Damon was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to Stefan's bleeding hand.

"You definitely broke more than one bone in there, genius. Healing all those little bone fragments, that's gonna hurt like a bitch."

He turned toward the door, reflexively reaching for the handle to pull it open despite the gaping hole he could've easily stepped through. He stopped, arm still extended, and flicked a glance over his shoulder to meet Stefan's gaze.

"I'm gonna go check in with Barbie, see what's going on. You might wanna get some ice. You're gonna want that hand to be numb while it's healing."

The door swung shut behind Damon's retreating back. Stefan stayed where he was, realizing that Damon was right - he'd shattered bone, making the healing slower and far more painful. Looking down at his hand, he gingerly flexed his fingers, wincing as muscles and tendons and ligaments began the process of mending.

He knew he should follow his brother. He knew he shouldn't stay in hiding for the sake of his own bleeding conscience.

And then he replayed his brother's uncharacteristically accurate words of wisdom. It wasn't about what he, Stefan, should or shouldn't do - and it certainly wasn't about what he _wanted _to do. It was about Elena, and what she wanted.

Stefan had a feeling that seeing him didn't make the list.

He let out a long sigh and walked inside, but from there his path diverged from his brother's. Damon had gone up the stairs; Stefan skirted them. There was really only one thing for him to do.

He headed for the kitchen to find an ice pack.


	19. Chapter 19: Breathe

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I don't know about you guys, but after tonight's episode I'm HURTING. My TVD heart is breaking for baby girl Gilbert and mostly I want to bury my head in my pillow and weep. But I didn't want to disappoint you and I promised to post something by tonight, so here it is. Since I wanted you to have something, I split a chapter in two - it was a long one anyway, and the breaking point came pretty naturally. So let's take a moment to let Damon and Elena reflect on this massive life change before we cut to their much anticipated reunion, shall we? (You hate me right now, don't you. Note the lack of a question mark. MORE SOON I PROMISE)

* * *

Elena stood under the scalding spray of the shower, grateful that she hadn't dropped off her duffel before forcing her earlier confrontation with Damon. Despite having seen the healing effects of vampire blood on more than one occasion, she was dazed to feel the clotted blood tangling her hair - it had clearly been a vicious injury - without experiencing any pain. Having her own conditioner on hand was both useful and necessary in detangling the matted mess streaming down her back.

God bless Caroline for reminding her that she had a change of clothes and her toiletries. At least she wouldn't have to kick off this new life in a borrowed shirt and day-old underwear.

The whole experience in the shower was a sensory overload - standing beneath the pulse of the faucet, the air filled with scents that blended into one warm aroma. Her own vanilla body scrub, her shampoo and conditioner, both hinting subtly at citrus, the underlying sharp, fresh tang of Damon's Irish Spring soap. The sound of falling water echoed in her ears, louder than she was used to but not unpleasant.

And as she let the inevitable sobs take over, she tasted the salt of her tears.

She'd taken that first tentative sip of blood, and while one part of her - probably the lingering human part - recoiled from the act, the other part, the newly born vampire, rejoiced. Her own blood swam faster, and she understood now the way Stefan had once described the transformation to her after Vicki Donovan turned. He'd described the way everything became amplified, from personality traits to physical sensation. He'd also told her that, for Vicki, the process was particularly vicious both because she was a user of God knows what variety of drugs, and because she'd put off the idea of feeding on human blood.

That was part of the reason Elena hadn't needed the time Caroline offered to make her own decision. Vicki's behavior had spiraled out of control - which was saying something, since the girl had always been more than a little off balance - in the period of time between her death and her own rebirth. Ultimately, she'd folded under the considerable weight of her bloodlust, killing a man, feeding from him, without thought or hesitation.

And Stefan had also told Elena that if Vicki didn't feed at all, she'd slowly... fade away. Her cravings would intensify and without satisfying them, she'd be all the more unstable until her body simply shut down.

The last thing Elena needed now was to waste time in denial. She was a pragmatic person; when something went wrong, when something needed taking care of, she did just that. She didn't shy away from her problems, even when those problems threatened to suffocate her.

It was that pragmatism that had her rapidly producing a story to offer Caroline, who'd inevitably asked the dreaded question - "So... how did this happen, exactly?"

Caroline was a bright girl, clever and quick on the uptake. Elena had little doubt that her friend had already figured out that the Salvatore brothers played some kind of role in her death. Clearly, they hadn't elaborated on said role, or Caroline wouldn't have bothered asking the question and forcing Elena to rehash everything.

With fresh blood singing in her veins, she'd felt like she'd just done a line of cocaine. Well, she imagined that's what it felt like, with everything becoming so intense and her train of thought moving at a rapid, near deadly pace. The world was sharper - and apparently, so was her brain. She'd never been the greatest liar, but she wouldn't allow the accident of her death to overshadow her new life.

No one could know Damon had hurt her. No one could know his moment of blind rage was the reason the blood that revived her was in her system.

So she'd simply made a few revisions to the story she'd told Stefan. According to her new version of events, when she and Damon faced off against Kol at Scary Mary's, the Original had given her a careless shove. She'd fallen at just the wrong angle and slammed her head against the corner of a table, cracking her skull. Dazed and bleeding, she'd accepted Damon's proffered wrist. They'd needed to _move_, and there hadn't been time for any delicate Florence Nightingale histrionics, no time for the gentle tending of wounds. She'd needed healing, and she'd needed it quickly.

Barely a day later, a combination of poor timing and a desire to, per usual, keep the Salvatores from murdering each other, led Elena to step into the fray of flying fists. It was simply a case of the wrong place at the wrong time, an accident, plain and simple.

Elena could only pray that, with each telling, the lie would become closer and closer to fact. Because no one could know the truth. No one _would_. This was her rebirth; she wouldn't let it be tarnished before she'd even begun. This was her life now, and damn if she wasn't going to live it.

Elena Gilbert dealt in reality, plain and simple. Even when reality took on a decidedly unreal aspect. After all, how many people were there who could face the knowledge that vampires weren't confined to fiction without checking themselves into a mental institution?

But Elena had managed to accept something entirely against everything she believed when she'd wrapped her head around Stefan's vampirism. She hadn't wanted to - God, she'd fought the idea tooth and nail, turning it over in her head, trying to explain away the things she'd seen with her own eyes. But she'd also gotten out of bed the morning after she'd figured out what Stefan was, and she'd gone to confront him. No hesitation. She went directly to the source and listened as he explained all the things she so vehemently wanted to ignore. And she accepted all of it, came to terms with a concept completely foreign to her reality - and she did so with strength, determination, and a steely sort of grace.

What had happened, had happened. There was no use wishing it away. She had to take action, had to learn how to live this new life that had been forced on her. Anything else would be an exercise in mental torture.

Still, at the end of the day, Elena was only a girl on the cusp of adulthood, grappling with the challenges that came with growing up in a world where vampires walked in sunlight and werewolves prowled beneath the full moon.

_How am i supposed to handle this? _she asked herself the question desperately, and even her thoughts sounded panicked. _God, how do I do this? I'm only human!_

And then she had to close her eyes and fight to steady her breathing. Because no, she wasn't only human. She wasn't human at all.

When Caroline had suggested a shower to refresh Elena, to wash away the literal aftereffects of her death, she'd looked Elena calmly in the eye, giving her friend a smile that was sympathetic and sad and encouraging and proud and loving all at once.

Elena had held Caroline's gaze for a long moment, then managed a nod. Caroline was right; a shower would help calm her, allow her the time to collect herself before having to face the outside world.

Neither Caroline nor Elena actually said it, but they both knew the biggest reason for Elena to take a bit of time for herself. She needed to grieve. She needed to cry.

That was the sound Damon heard as he tentatively approached the door to his room. Quiet but distinct beneath the rush of water, he heard each gasping intake of breath, each shuddering sigh. His heart physically ached in his chest. It was a sensation he'd never understood until Elena became a part of his life - it seemed like one of those overdramatic expressions romantics used to describe heartbreak.

It had been fairly unpleasant to discover that the phrase wasn't as figurative as he'd once believed.

Every protective instinct in his body propelled him forward, ready to run to Elena's side, to hold her or comfort her or simply let her vent the anger, frustration, the sheer desperate impotence she must be feeling. God knew he was. Damon's hand hovered over the doorknob, then dropped again.

He closed his eyes and took a breath before retreating from the door. The last thing she needed now was to be caught with her defenses down; she had to be feeling achingly vulnerable already. And God knows she didn't need him getting distracted from the matter at hand by the knowledge that the only thing separating her body from his was a brief terrycloth towel. She needed his friendship, needed a shoulder, a hand to hold. He wouldn't complicate an already impossible situation with his own selfish needs.

As he'd said to his brother, none of his needs, or Stefan's needs, or anyone else's - none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was Elena.

Distance, he decided. He'd give her a few more minutes of distance and let her come to him on her own terms rather than forcing any conversation.

He couldn't leave her alone much longer, though. He had to see her with his own eyes, see her alive and walking and talking. Because his last image of her was a terrible one that would haunt him forever, and he needed so badly to replace it.

Caroline had come downstairs, taken one look at Stefan, and decided it was necessary to get him the hell away from Elena. She'd planned to go straight to the hardware store, then realized the one in Mystic Falls probably wouldn't be equipped with all the materials they'd need to shore up the gaping hole in the boarding house foyer. And then there was the trickier - and more pressing - matter of the devastation in the front hall. Caroline had no idea what kind of industrial solvent would help remove the stains left behind on the foyer floor, a terrible reminder of Elena's own death. She'd have to go several towns over to some hardware chain - Home Depot, she thought - which meant a lengthy drive.

The pain still broadcast on Stefan's face had her demanding his company. Yes, she was perfectly capable of making the journey herself. Instead, she claimed that she'd need Stefan with her to take care of any heavy lifting.

"I may be a vampire, but I'm still a girl," she'd said cheerfully, "and therefore, it's your job to do the home repair and mine to wield the credit card."

For the first time since Elena's death, Stefan's mouth had curved into the slightest of smiles.

She'd instructed Stefan to grab a jacket - "It's getting nippy, don't want you catching a cold," she'd admonished - while she retrieved Elena's bag from the car. During Stefan's brief absence she'd held a quick whispered conversation with Damon. Their low tones helped their words from intruding on Stefan's consciousness; if he'd focused on the sound, he would've heard them clearly.

He didn't want to focus; he didn't want to hear.

Caroline's words were rolled rapidly off her tongue. She needed to get Stefan off the premises, stat.

"I don't think she's ready to see Stefan any more than he's ready to see her. I asked her if she wanted me to stay or if I could go run errands and she said she was okay - as long as you were here. So just... be good to her, and be gentle." she'd said the last word pointedly, and Damon had winced. He'd opened his mouth, not to defend himself but to apologize for what he'd done, but Caroline cut him off. "Doesn't matter anymore, Damon. Although if this little fight doesn't motivate you two from seeking anger management, I don't know what will." She waved away the thought, not interested in soothing Damon when she knew it would be an exercise in futility. He and Stefan would have to come to terms with the accident on their own time.

"For now, forget all that. Unless Elena wants to talk about it, the 'd' word is off limits. She needs us all together, not fighting. Besides, I figure you're beating yourself up enough for both of us. Anyway, she's in the shower. Just... I don't know - don't crowd her, but let her know you're there, okay?"

"I never meant for this to happen," Damon said, eyes bleak.

Caroline's eyes turned sympathetic, and she'd extended a hand and brushed it over his cheek. "I know, Damon. I know that." Withdrawing her hand, her expression suddenly turned calculating. "Hey, you're a master of manipulation and scheming..."

"Thanks," he'd answered dryly.

"We've gotta come up with a way to explain what happened. When Jeremy and Bonnie and everyone find out about Elena, we have to distance you and Stefan from it. Put the focus on Kol and try to downplay the whole part where - well, you know." Damon opened his mouth to ask what she meant about Kol, then quickly shut it. Clearly, Elena had put her own spin on events. He wasn't about to interfere with what the girl he loved wanted and needed. Whatever he could do to make things easier, he'd do.

"So yeah... while we're gone, start doing some of that scheme-y stuff you're so good at, kay?"

Caroline left Damon mulling over whether he'd been insulted or complimented as she darted back into the house to bring Elena her duffel; minutes later, she was back outside, hopping in the driver's seat while Stefan rode shotgun in her sporty roadster.

"Take care of her or I'll have to kick your ass," she'd called out, sounding a little more enthusiastic than necessary. Shooting him a grin, she'd waved and driven away.

Damon wasn't sure what the best course of action was in terms of taking care of Elena. He knew she'd resent any kind of coddling, but at the same time, she was a passionate, loving person. She didn't shy away from human contact - she was a hugger, a hand squeezer. How many times had she laid a comforting hand on his arm?

How many times had he wanted more, so much more, but gratefully, pathetically, settled for whatever scraps she'd tossed him?

Yes, Elena was a toucher. And he liked to think she'd gain comfort from physical contact with him, but decided not to give it - well, not to give too much of it, anyway - until he'd felt her out a little.

It hadn't been all that long since Caroline gave Elena blood, but early on in the transformation, the rough road was made slightly smoother when your body was running on an ample amount of nutrients. Ultimately it was her call, but since he couldn't think of anything else to offer her, he decided on some comfort food.

The twisted thought had his lips curving. Ah, blood. The vampire equivalent of chicken noodle soup.

He listened for another minute, hugely glad to hear only the sound of water hitting porcelain. She'd stopped crying, which made it a tiny bit easier for him to stop himself from breaking down the door. Instead, he slipped out of the room just as Elena turned off the shower. A few more minutes. He'd give her just a few more minutes.

Even if waiting killed him.


	20. Chapter 20: Give and Take

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Rated M for magnificently sexy ;)

* * *

Elena stepped out of the shower feeling a strange mixture of excitement and mind-numbing sadness. It was the blood, she knew, causing the semi-tingly, antsy feeling that rushed through her body.

She was already craving more.

Damon wasn't around when she left his bathroom and walked directly to the full-length mirror beside his bed. The bedroom door was open only an inch or two. Human Elena would've hurried to close it; her new self wasn't hugely concerned with modesty. Besides, if he walked in on her, it would take less than a second to cover herself again.

She had one priority right now. She needed to see her reflection. She needed to study herself, to find some reassurance in the fact that her body was still hers, familiar in its curves and lines.

She needed, too, to trigger the vampire. Nothing would be more effective in driving home the truth than seeing the part of her body that _had_ changed.

Nothing would be more effective than seeing herself with fangs.

She let the towel fall away, grabbing the extra one she'd taken from Damon's bathroom and drying her hair. Her eyes remained riveted on the mirror, and she felt a surge of comfort in watching the familiar image of herself towel-drying, doing something she'd done a thousand times before and seeing that she looked no different doing it.

She was just wondering how exactly to bare her fangs when a scent curled its way into the air, instantly prompting the transformation. New teeth tore through her gums, and her hand went automatically to her mouth as she let out a small groan of pain. It felt like her skull would split open - again - as those new teeth forced their way in. She was so focused on the sensation that she was hardly conscious of the change in her eyes when Damon walked in, another mug of blood in hand.

Hearing her cry as her mouth continued to throb, Damon crossed the room in a heartbeat. Elena was distantly interested in the fact that, despite his speed, he hadn't spilled a drop of blood.

She'd be able to do that now, she realized. She'd have that lithe vampire grace, the lightning vampire reflexes, all those heightened vampire sensations.

Because she was a vampire.

Jesus, she was a vampire.

"Here, baby, drink. It will help, I promise."

Elena turned to Damon, her eyes big and a little lost. It took him a moment to appreciate the fact that she was stark naked, and to register shock that he'd only just noticed.

_Wow,_ he thought wryly._ You know you love a girl when you don't even realize she's naked in front of you because you're so focused on making her all better._

Now, though, he had a curious, uncharacteristic urge to avert his eyes, which he did as he pressed the cup into her hands. Elena let out a moan that was part gratitude and part desperation as she drank. Again, her stomach protested, and she choked on a mouthful before forcing it down.

Damon took the cup back and, in an act of self preservation, wrapped her discarded towel around her shoulders.

"You shouldn't drink too fast. It's your brain making you want to stop. Your body wants it, but you're not totally... comfortable, I guess would be the word, drinking blood like water."

She fastened the towel, discovering that vampires were equally susceptible to the blush that came with embarrassment. She hadn't even realized she was naked; that's how overpowering the hunger was.

"So... it won't hurt every time?" She fought to keep her voice from wavering.

"No, not at all. It just sort of happens. You probably smelled the blood I was bringing and bam. Activate game face." He shot her his patented Damon grin, so familiar in its smirking cockiness that she found herself responding with a smile. She had no idea how much it cost him to play it cool. Instinct told him to act as natural as possible, and when she rewarded him with that smile, he was momentarily crippled with relief.

Because he knew, now, that she could still smile. That he could still make her smile.

"I think I want - can I have the rest?"

"Yeah, of course. Just, slowly, like I said."

She tightened her towel more securely before taking the mug again and sitting on the edge of the bed. This time, she angled herself toward the mirror and kept her eyes open as she drank.

Oh, god. The rising veins spiderwebbing from her eyes, the eyes themselves going red with hunger, with bloodlust.

"Oh, god," she said, aloud this time. Her fingers went limp and Damon snagged the falling cup out of thin air as Elena crumpled, putting her face in her hands. "It's real. Even when I was drinking it, it wasn't real." She lifted her chin and met Damon's eyes. Hers were their pure, sweet brown again - and they were even bigger than usual, magnified by her tears. "This is really happening, Damon. It's really happening."

He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms, hand going to her head as he stroked her hair in long, gentle motions. "It's okay, Elena. it's going to be okay."

She thought she'd cried out all the tears her heart could possibly hold, but they flooded her again. She held him in a grip that would've bruised a human body, unaware of her own strength.

"Don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I can't do this, I can't. I can't be this." She raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes so sad, so very, very sad. "I don't want this, Damon."

"I promise you, Elena. I'm here. and I'm going to take care of you, and before you know it i won't have to anymore. Because there is no one in this world more capable of taking care of herself than you. You can do this, Elena. You _will_ do this, and you'll see. It will be okay."

She gazed up into the depths of his blue eyes, sometimes an icy, chilly blue, sometimes dark as midnight. They hovered somewhere between as he kept them firmly on hers, projecting strength, forcing her to believe what he said. And she did, because he so obviously believed every word. He wasn't placating her. He knew she could do this.

She saw that conviction on his face, in his eyes. Saw that he believed in her with every cell in his body. It was enough to calm the tears. She closed her eyes for a long moment, then slowly blinked them open again and focused on his face, his beautiful, familiar face.

"You didn't ask," she murmured.

"Didn't ask what?" He brushed his fingertips up and down her arm, needing to maintain contact. He'd carried her rapidly cooling body to his bed. It was absolutely vital for him to feel her skin warm again.

"You didn't ask if I was going to be okay. If I'm okay."

He stroked a the back of his knuckle along her cheek, then brushed his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip.

"I didn't have to," he murmured. "I already know. Maybe you don't feel okay right now. No one really can. But I didn't have to ask if you're going to be okay, because you are, Elena. I know you are."

"Damon?" her breath hitched.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't get to tell you... before."

"Tell me what?"

Her eyes were eloquent, full of tears and swirling emotion.

And something he didn't recognize, didn't dare name, because he'd never seen it turned in his direction before. Didn't want to tempt himself with identifying the feeling she beamed up at him.

If he'd asked, she could've told him. Her eyes were love.

"I'm scared to say it, because everything is so new. And I, I don't know how this will work, or if suddenly things will change. I don't think they will, because it's so big, it's so much I can hardly stand it. I don't want things to change - the feelings I'm feeling. I _need_ them."

"What feelings, Elena? Some of them will change, as you adjust... The fear, that freaked out, overwhelmed feeling..."

"Not that. I know that. That's not what I'm even feeling right now. When I look at you, there's no room for anything else. It's been like that for a while, you know. Maybe it took death to give me the courage to say it."

Confused, Damon looked at her, his brow creasing in a frown. "No room for anything else but what, Elena? To say _what_?"

He already knew. But in that moment, knowing and believing were worlds apart.

She watched him with those heartbreaking eyes and her voice was unsteady when she answered him. "I'm so in love with you, Damon."

Before he could respond, before he could even begin to try and tackle the sudden onslaught of emotion that hit him when he heard those words, she was plowing on.

"I don't want to talk about what's happened anymore, Damon. I don't. I can't. It's all so _much_ right now. I just... I want to shut my brain off. I just want to think of the good."

With infinite gentleness Damon tucked a strand of hair behind Elena's ear. Her face tilted automatically as she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

"You amaze me," he said softly, drinking her in. Nothing had stirred his heart in decades, and suddenly it was pounding. Bursting with love for her. "Finding any good in this situation? You're fucking amazing, Elena."

"It's not hard to find," she told him, reaching for his hand, gripping it tight. "You're the good, Damon."

She didn't see the little smile of amusement on his lips.

"That's the second time you've told me I'm good in what, three days? You should really stop saying it or people will hear you. I have a reputation, you know."

She laughed, actually laughed, and his heart swelled. "Tell me what I can do for you, Elena. Tell me how I can help. Whatever it is I can do to help make this easier, I'll do it in a heartbeat. I love you, Elena. No matter how unsure everything else is, be sure of that. I _love _you."

He continued to brush the pad of his thumb along the delicate arch of her cheekbone, and after a moment her eyes fluttered open. For the first time since she'd woken, she felt almost peaceful. Because even in the midst of this horrible mess she knew she had people who loved her, people who would help her.

Because she had Damon.

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him so seriously he nearly laughed.

"I know something you could do..." Still twining her fingers with his, she slipped her other hand behind his head, brought his mouth to hers.

And holy Jesus, the instant their lips made contact the fire, the spark that shot through her - she should've burst into flame. It was the simplest kiss, two mouths closed but pressed together, and it ignited every nerve.

She drew away only for a moment, looking at him with shock and wonder and - oh, God - joy, true, unadulterated joy, bright in her eyes.

"Oh my God. oh, my God, Damon. Don't ever stop kissing me, I'll be okay if you never - "

He crushed his mouth on hers, drowning out her words with a savage kiss. Her throaty hum of pleasure coursed through his whole body, and now it was his hand grasping her hair, gripping it hard, bruising her lips with his. She twisted in his lap, the towel falling away as she fought to feel more of him, to touch more of him.

Then his mouth was on her throat and her hands were fumbling in their attempt to reach more skin, to rip away the silk of his shirt so she could feel more, so much more. She arched her neck into his touch, felt his tongue sweep the smooth slope of her shoulder, felt the scrape of his teeth, felt each fiery kiss as his mouth moved lower.

"Oh, god, oh God, it feels - it's so good I might die." she was panting now, renewing her efforts to shed his clothes with near violent desperation. Buttons flew as she ripped his shirt open, and she yanked his head up, fused her mouth with his, pressed her bare skin against his hard chest. It was everything it had been and a million things more, more than she knew she was capable of feeling.

"I need you, I need you inside me Damon." Her words were a breathy plea as she fought with the buckle of his belt.

"Wait, just wait," he whispered against her neck, and the protest died on her lips as his mouth found her breast, his tongue swirling around her impossibly hard nipple, and every inch of her body bowed.

When his hand slipped between her legs, when he found her already wet with her own desperate excitement, she bit back a scream, her teeth sinking so deep into her lip that she drew blood. And the taste combined with his touch was more than she could bear.

Her hips moved against his seeking finger, and when he slid another inside her she couldn't hold back the scream of sheer, staggering pleasure.

"You're going to make me - I'm going to come," she managed raggedly, and then cried out in protest at his sudden withdrawal. He flipped her onto her back and finished the job her trembling hands had failed at, yanking off his jeans and arranging himself over her.

"Not till I'm inside you. Sit up, Elena." It was a growled command.

She could feel him pressing against her, the hard length of him so close, so tantalizingly close. Her hips bucked and he fisted a hand in her hair, dragging her up. He used his free hand to capture one of hers, took her fingertip and pressed the curve of her nail to his own throat. Dragged her finger along his skin, deep and hard.

In the wake of her touch, blood rushed to the surface.

"Look at me," he demanded, releasing her from his grip only to shove her legs open roughly, almost angrily. He ranged himself over her, moaning as his hardness met her wetness. Her eyes were blurred, drugged, intoxicated by him.

And then he was grabbing her by the hair again, drawing her mouth to his neck. Her vision went nearly black as she succumbed to the primal animal in her, as her teeth sank into his tender throat. In the same moment that the taste of blood filled her mouth, he filled her, plunging inside her, wild, feverish, furious, glorious.

She ripped her fangs away when the orgasm tore through her. Her mouth had to be free.

She had to be able to scream his name.


End file.
